


A Beast That Wants

by PoboboProbably



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Awkward Romance, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Sex, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Light Angst, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Reunions, Romantic Fluff, Search for a Cure, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age), The Calling (Dragon Age), Ultimate Sacrifice, big fuckoff lord of the rings style travel sequence, cure for the calling, lovable asshole protagonist, redemption of past mistakes, slightly heavier angst than the last time a tag mentioned any angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:26:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 114,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoboboProbably/pseuds/PoboboProbably
Summary: Safir Tabris has had a hard life. Now, she's trying to fix it.The year is 9:39 Dragon, and after five years of exile, the retired Hero of Ferelden stews at home in Denerim. Beset by growing worries and rising impatience, she sets off on a quest to cleanse herself of the Blight once and for all.A ton of character development neatly disguised as a cure for the calling, this long-form is a direct sequel to the Safir Sadness Marathon.





	1. Mindfulness is Key

The bustle of Denerim’s slums filtered into the room only slightly muffled by its passage through thin alienage walls. In the next room, the sound of a cooking meal joined it along with the scent of melting butter and fresh fish. The straw mattress sagged just a touch under Safir’s weight as she sat cross-legged in its center and stared at the uneven brick wall just a few feet ahead. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and willed her awareness onto the corrupted blood that coursed through her veins. The taint seemed strongest at her hands and feet, flowing inward in steady waves. But soon it collected itself in her core, pulsing along with the beats of her heart and writhing in unrest as a cooling sensation crawled up her spine and took root inside her head. Then the song’s melody rose up from the rhythmic drumming of her body. At first it was only a whisper, a faint call from beyond shimmering in the darkness with an ethereal lament that asked for nothing save her attention.

As it asked, so did it receive.

Safir attuned herself more closely to the song and at once it grew louder in her mind, as clear as if it were sung by a choir of ghosts in the very same room. Soon, its fervor grew, no longer a whisper but an exuberant chant, striking out against her drumming heart with a lovely warmth as if to reward her for listening. The song calmed soon after and settled into a relaxed gait, wandering peacefully through the enthralling notes that made up its melody. Comprised of sounds unlike the timbre of any instrument, it wrapped around her slowly, threatening in each moment to ensnare her mind and call her forth, forth into the darkness where it lay waiting to be released.

But all was not lovely. The song’s beauty was marred every few moments by the ringing of a sour note or the playing of a chord out of time. These blemishes on its perfection betrayed its true nature: corrupted, foul, and deceitful. Searching endlessly for a weakness of will or a lapse of judgment to lead her to doom. And yet, even marked as it was by its sinister deviations, the song commanded loyalty, a will to be received and to be heeded. It inspired not suspicion or anger, but pity. Desperate, longing pity. Safir felt that if only she could reach out, find the place it came from, she could correct those misplaced notes and set the music to blissful, wonderful rest. It would take but a moment for all to be well.

She opened her eyes, fixing them once more on the bricks that lay before her and forcing the awareness of her blood back into obscurity. The call of the Old Gods fought her even as she attempted to ignore it, the strained notes lurching into a fast and irregular tempo. Against this argument she persisted, wearing away at its hold over her mind with each deep breath she took until finally, it slipped reluctantly back into silence. 

The song had grown louder already since the previous week, and its resistance stronger. Safir guessed that the moment was fast approaching that it would refuse to be abated. That was not a moment which she would suffer to arrive.

She stretched herself out slightly, her hands meeting the wooden bedframe that held the top bunk in place above her head. She rose from her meditative position on the mattress and cast her eyes to the corner of the room, where a burlap sack sat closed on the lid of a ramshackle trunk. Lifting the sack by its knotted opening, she brought it with her to the wobbly table that stood against the wall under the glow of a burning rushlight. Undoing the knot proved a difficult task after it had spent so much time buried in the forest soil. Clumps of impacted dirt still clung to the folded burlap and held it fast in place. Tiring of the work, Safir produced Fang from a pile of her belongings on the floor and cut the contents free by removing the knot from the sack entirely. Then, carefully, she laid them all out on the table before tossing the sack behind her. Spread out before her across the uneven wooden surface were a shabby leatherbound notebook, an ancient tube of rolled up parchment, and a small glass vial of black blood that had somehow remained wet in spite of its apparent age. The sack contained also a few bits and bobs of lesser import. Things like dried herbs and apothecary’s tools, both of which were common enough to find in the right stores. This miscellany she set aside while she focused her attention on those items that were of particular interest.

The subject of her immediate investigation was the vial of blood. She palmed it easily and held it close for further inspection. The glass was without label, and the blood it contained without much character. It swished around inside the vial, almost entirely black but for the wine red of its meniscus. She closed her eyes and held it up to her forehead, not beckoning the song to make itself known but waiting to see if it would call out to her of its own accord. A few silent moments later, she set it back down on the table, once again unable to sense any of the taint in the blood. Perhaps whatever creature’s veins had once housed it had not been darkspawn. In any case, that is what she theorized. No one in the Wardens had ever explicitly told her that darkspawn blood could be sensed even when outside of a darkspawn’s body. 

Safir sighed and bit her lip as she resigned herself to ignorance. Whatever her suspicions, the vial remained a mystery about which no conclusions could be drawn for certain. Instead, she opened up the leather journal whose yellow pages were filled with notes scratched in by the tip of a hastened author’s quill. The Witch of the Wilds had left her with many hints and clues, but precious few answers:

 _I have found a great many things of interest in my travels_ , the notebook began, Morrigan’s script dancing along the pages as elegantly as her spoken word. _Here I have catalogued those which should interest you in particular_.

Content with that opening, Morrigan’s writing sped casually along through a summary of her discoveries, which ranged from a strange plant’s medicinal effects to startling theories and speculation about Thedosian history. It was every word of it beyond Safir’s capacity and willingness for understanding. She pinched her nose as she skimmed through the witch’s account of an elven ruin in the Western Approach and shut the journal with a huff. True to her character, the notes she’d left behind were frustratingly cryptic and devoid of any clear direction.

Safir next considered the white roll of parchment. Undoing the string that held it in shape, she unfurled it and watched as a slip of yellow paper fell out from within the stacked sheets. She turned it right side up to read the words Morrigan had scribbled onto it.

 _Found this somewhere near the Anderfels—early Warden activity. Should prove useful to you_.

The witch was terse and to the point, but as usual she was not at all instructive. Not a single word of the notes written on the ancient leaves was in a language Safir could read. Each page was filled with the meandering lines that characterized elven writing, leading her to doubt very much that it had anything at all to do with the Grey Wardens.

Safir let her head fall into her waiting hands, sighing out a lungful of air as her eyes cycled restlessly through three separate dead ends and recognized the spectacular difficulty of the task that lay before her. Morrigan was nothing if not accommodating. 

“Safir!” her father’s voice rang out. “Safir, your fish is getting cold!”

“What?” she yelled back, neglecting to think before speaking. Cyrion’s footsteps creaked into the space behind her as he approached the table, setting down the wooden plate of food just to the left of Safir’s assorted clues.

“Maker’s breath, what is all this?”

“A gift from Morrigan,” Safir answered, pulling the bread and pan-fried fish closer to herself. “I know what she’s trying to point me to, but I’m damned if I can make sense of any of this.”

“Morrigan? Is that your witch friend from the Blight?” He scoffed derisively upon her confirmation. “The same woman who abandoned my Little Owl in a darkspawn ruin. What use could you have for any gift of hers?”

Safir absentmindedly tore a thin piece of the filet off with her bare fingers and tossed it into her mouth, her eyes sweeping back and forth over the table as she chewed. 

“It’s a cure. At least, I’m fairly sure it’s a cure.”

“A cure for what?”

“For the taint,” she added, albeit that explanation was not likely a useful one.

“I don’t understand,” Cyrion muttered under his breath, pulling up a chair from against the wall and sitting down to face her. “I assume you’re talking about the darkspawn taint. Why would you need a cure for that?”

“How do you think Wardens gain their abilities, Pa? We don’t just ask the Maker to please let us kill archdemons, you know.” Safir moved the blood vial closer to where her father sat to let him inspect it for himself. “We accept the Blight into ourselves in order to enhance our strength and endurance. It also gives us the ability to sense the darkspawn and kill their archdemons.”

“The Blight? But that’s… that’s lethal!” Cyrion pushed the vial away from himself as if merely touching it would infect him with the taint. “No one who’s exposed to it survives for more than a few hours!”

“Not under normal circumstances,” Safir specified. She figured there was little use in guarding the Wardens’ secrets at this point, especially given that actually finding the cure seemed quite hopeless. “Wardens are anything but normal. We take a specially modified form of darkspawn blood, add some creepy ancient magic, and it’s bottom’s up. If we live, we get to be Grey Wardens. If we don’t, well… we don’t.” 

Wide eyes betrayed his dismayed shock before she’d even finished explaining the Joining. He brought a hand to his open mouth and stared straight at the vial on the table, no doubt imagining the filth and corruption that had taken root in his only daughter’s body. 

“It’s fucked, I know,” Safir agreed.

“Oh my Little Owl, if I’d known that day…” he faltered, recomposing himself after a spell. “No. You were lost to me either way. I suppose this is better than execution, but it is still monstrous.”

“But necessary. It’s what lets us sense darkspawn, and it’s why only a Warden can stop a Blight.” Noticing her father’s visible confusion, Safir elaborated with a casual wave of her hand. “Not just anyone can kill an archdemon, or its soul will just _zoom_ into the nearest darkspawn and be reborn. But because we’re tainted, too, if one of us kills it, it’ll try to _zoom_ into us instead. Problem is, two souls can’t fit into one body, so both of them are destroyed and the Warden who kills the archdemon dies with it. That’s how Al… that’s how _he_ died.”

“So, the cure…” he started, nervously tapping his fingers on the table, “it would get rid of your ability to sense the darkspawn. Is that what you want?”

“Wardens aren’t immune to the taint, Pa. It still kills us, it just takes a lot longer.”

Cyrion leaned forward at once, grabbing Safir’s arm with far too tight a grip for comfort. “Maker, Safir, how long have you got left?”

“I don’t know, Pa, I don’t know. But that’s why this cure is so important.” Safir pounded a closed fist onto the table, shaking her assorted clues from their positions and averting her eyes from Cyrion’s worried gaze. “Being a Warden only matters during a Blight. Now it’s over and I’m going to fix it. I’m going to fix _me_.”

“And all of this junk is going to lead you there?”

“It’s not junk, Pa, I just can’t understand it.” Safir shuffled the scattered pages around just to confirm that none of them were written in the common tongue. “I’ll need help.”

“Well, I’m sorry to say I won’t be of much use to you, Little Owl,” her father said with a resigned half grin.

“No offense, but I wasn’t asking for your help… I need Morrigan.”

“The woman, I repeat, who left you all alone when you needed her?” he protested. “I’m not sure that’s a wise choice, darling.”

“She’s the only one who could make sense of this, Pa.” Safir’s thoughts carried her back to the Dragonbone Wastes and to the eluvian that was buried there. Morrigan had left, yes, but with softness in her eyes. “And I think she would be glad to help. I hope so, anyway.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to contact her,” Cyrion suggested, crossing his arms.

“Easier said than done. I have no idea where she is or how to find her.”

“Perhaps that is for the better?”

“But I know someone who might be able to track her down. The same person who helped me find her last time.”

Safir pushed her seat away from the table and stood, grabbing the bread from her plate and ripping a bite out of it as she rummaged through the house for blank parchment and a quill to write with.

“I need to write a letter,” she mumbled, mouth still full. “To Kinloch Hold. Ask them to let my friend out again so he can help.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then, Little Owl. Don’t let your dinner go colder than it already has,” Cyrion said, returning to the living room with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Safir was too focused on her own task to pay much mind to her father’s obvious disappointment with the decision. She sat down at once, clearing the sack’s contents away from the space in front of her chair to flatten a loose page and draft her message. She wrote it hastily, merely asking that Greagoir or the Knight-Commander in charge release Finn so that he may assist her again. Surely her position as Ferelden’s Hero of the Blight still gave her enough clout to make a request like that. As soon as she’d finished writing, she exited the house and made for the nearest courier station to deliver the letter. And then, upon returning home, began the uncomfortable task of waiting for a response. 

Staring at her feet after entering her room, she couldn’t help but notice what a sorry state her boots were in. Each tear in the thin and worn leather beckoned to her and demanded that they be replaced, just as they’d done each time she put them on since she’d come home to Denerim. Until recently, that demand could be ignored without care or consequence, but leaving home again for the open road made that much more difficult. Safir crossed the room and kicked open the trunk that sat against the opposite wall. Inside it was all of her old equipment, from the padded jacket and leather vest to the corroded steel vambraces and greaves that had been with her since Orzammar. It also contained her old sword belt, whose loops were so worn through that they’d likely split apart under the weight of a butter knife. 

She pulled out the jacket and vest, wondering if they could still be of any use to her. After laying them out on the bed and counting the holes and tears in them, however, that idea was confidently put to rest. Even if the sleeves weren’t on the verge of falling off and the leather not so pliable, their combined odor was enough to deter her from putting them on. Not an impressive state of affairs for a set of armor to be in.

“Note to self,” Safir sighed, “don’t go into exile in damp forests for years on end.”

“What was that?” chimed Cyrion, his head poking into the doorframe. Safir shook her head slightly and tossed the gambeson in his direction. Looking at it expectantly after it landed at his feet, he simply asked, “Your old gear?”

“That thing was bright blue when I first got it,” she explained, studying the dark gray color that had resulted from years of use and exposure. “And it was actually worth putting on. I’ll need better stuff for when I leave.”

“When you leave? I thought we agreed this was hopeless.”

“Nice try, Pa.” Safir stepped past him and walked into his bedroom, looking around at the furniture inside and wondering what it might contain. “I don’t suppose you’d have enough coin for a new set?”

“Safir, I live in an alienage,” he reminded her, spreading his arms to gesture to the room. “My coffers aren’t exactly overflowing. Couldn’t you just borrow gear from Vigil’s Keep?”

Crossing her arms and working out a kink in her neck, Safir avoided the question entirely. “There’s got to be something in here worth a few sovereigns,” she muttered as she began rummaging through her father’s dresser.

“You don’t honestly expect to find anything of value in there, do you, Little Owl? You’ll have a hard time finding a buyer for my socks.”

“Hey, it worked during the Blight. Maybe I could root around in a barrel outside while no one’s looking. Found a good belt in Lothering that way.”

Opening and closing each of the drawers to no avail, she sighed in frustration and scratched her head.

“Safir…”

“What, Pa?” she groaned, her tone a touch more combative than she’d intended it to be.

“Vigil’s Keep. Why won’t you go to them? It’s a short enough way from here.”

“They’ll try to make me be a Warden again. At the very least. I can’t do that, and I can’t risk them finding out I’m trying to cure the taint.”

“What do you think they would do if they found out?” he pressed her, sounding unimpressed with her excuses. “They can’t force you to work for them, can they? I’ve never known the Wardens to be slave drivers.”

“You’ve never known the Wardens at all, Pa. Honestly, I don’t know how they would react, but I’m not interested in finding out.” Safir let out a sigh as she exited her father’s bedroom and faced the front door. “And… there are people there I’d rather not see.”

“So how do you plan to get new equipment, if you’re not still intent on auctioning off my belongings?”

“I can think of a few ways,” she let on, wondering if Slim Couldry could still be found in the markets.

“Oh, Maker… you’re not planning what I think you’re planning, are you?” Though she wasn’t looking at him, Safir was certain her father had crossed his arms and was shaking his head at the floor.

“What can I say, Pa?” she asked, heading for the door. “I am my mother’s daughter, after all.”

“That you are, Little Owl,” Cyrion admitted with a reluctant laugh. “But please, be more careful than she was, will you?”

“No promises,” Safir joked as she stepped out into the stenchy breeze of the alienage and made for its exit.

She set out in search of coin on the first of many trips into the city’s more opulent districts, pilfering whatever she could and scrounging up enough money for a new piece of equipment every few days. Just over a month later, she walked out of a blacksmith’s shop with a pair of silverite bracers paid for by some bann or other’s hapless daughter who paid far too much attention to her shoes and far too little to her purse. Arriving home, she tossed them onto a pile of other gear and found Cyrion waiting for her in the doorway when she turned back around to leave, a wax-sealed envelope in his hand.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked, pointing at the envelope.

“It has the Chantry’s seal on it,” her father nodded, bringing it up to shoulder height and gesturing for her to take it. Safir stepped in quickly, reaching impatiently for the parchment before he withdrew it, the hint of a scowl forming on his lined face. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” she offered, not deigning to take her eyes off the envelope as he held it aloft.

“Safir, look at me.”

She did. The wrinkles around his sharpened eyes were deep, his judging frown framed by thin white hair.

“You _will_ be careful, yes?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Pa. I was planning on getting myself killed at the first opportunity.”

“Safir.” His voice was flat, neither angry nor amused, but she suspected his lack of enthusiasm did not stem from indifference. No, the slight angle in his brows said otherwise. He was worried.

“I’m… sorry,” she finally sighed. “I know I shouldn’t…”

“Just answer my question, please.”

“Yes, Pa, I will be careful.” Safir averted her gaze a moment as she struggled to force herself into seriousness and reassure him properly. “I’m not doing this on a whim. I need this cure, Pa. I won’t risk it. For anything.”

Apparently satisfied, her father sighed at her and, with a measured shake of his head, handed her the envelope. He left her to her devices the moment it was in her hand. Steeling herself, she set the envelope on the table, pushing aside Morrigan’s clues to clear some space before she broke the seal that held it shut. Unfolding the parchment inside confirmed that the letter was indeed from the Circle, its emblem stamped harshly into the top of the page. 

_Warden Tabris,_

_It is a pleasure to know that the Hero of Ferelden still lives, and that she abides by proper channels. These past several years, Thedas could have used the guiding hand of someone like yourself, but I am sure your absence was well-justified._

_I regret to inform you, however, that in the years since we saw you last, Florian has not returned to the Circle, and any attempts my templars have made to track him down have met with failure. Upon their discovery of his leave, the young man’s parents dispatched a troop of mercenaries to bring him back to us, but they came only with news of his foul mouth and ill temper. At any rate, we are reasonably certain that he is still alive and in the company of the Dalish woman. It is possible that his parents may know more of his current whereabouts, should you wish to investigate further. They are Magistrate Kingston and Florence Aldebrant, residing in West Hill._

_Faint though our hope may be, Kinloch Hold would appreciate his prompt return, should he prove willing to be received. I wish you the best of luck on your travels, Warden._

_Andraste guide you,_

_Knight-Commander Greagoir._

Safir sighed to herself and bowed her head. West Hill wasn’t terribly far, but it was no summer stroll either. The trip would take something like two weeks on foot, and that was far too long a journey to make without proper equipment. She glanced to her right at the stash of ill gotten gains that sat on the floor next to her bed, deciding it was about time to put them all on.

She made her way over to it, staring down her feet at the mass of gambeson and leathers and trying to decide which was the smartest order in which to don them. Eventually settling on switching out her thin leggings for the tougher and baggier pair she’d picked out the week before, she began the transition from civilian clothing to battle-ready armor. She pulled on the dark gray gambeson vest over a loose fitting shirt of olive linen with long, airy sleeves and fastened the four small buckles that held it snugly across her chest. Having already attached the silverite shin guards to a knee high pair of steel-tipped boots made the task of gearing up her legs as simple as slipping them on and making sure the fit was satisfactory. Over her shoulders went a set of leather pauldrons with smooth guards that ran from her shoulders down to her elbows, leaving the inside of her arms unprotected but comfortable. Finally, she slipped on the leather bracers that ended in fingerless gloves with steel plates on the backs of their hands. Adding the silverite over the top of the bracers proved cumbersome but nonetheless worthwhile, and completing the look was a twin sword belt with loops for sheaths hanging at either side of her hips.

The gear was no doubt an upgrade from what she’d worn during the Blight, offering better protection and more freedom of movement. Plus, she thought, looking down at the form-fitting ensemble in its fully equipped state, it was a good deal more flattering. She scooped up all of Morrigan’s supplies and threw them into a slightly worn rucksack, shouldering it and mentally adding the weight of two weeks’ worth of rations.

“Safir, honey,” her father began, approaching her open doorway with a question on his voice. “Do you think you could—Oh, my. You’re all dressed up.”

“How do I look?” she asked him, spreading out her arms and raising her eyebrows hopefully.

“Like someone who is leaving far too soon. You've only been here a year and a half,” Cyrion lamented. “I take it the news was good?”

“Not exactly. But it wasn’t bad, either. Finn’s not at the tower anymore. His parents are in West Hill, though. Maybe they’ll know more.”

“So you’re off to West Hill, then? Just like that?”

Safir nodded once, a farewell sigh already escaping her control.

Without another word, her father closed the distance between them and wrapped her in a sadistically tight hug. Struggling to laugh with what little air remained in her lungs, Safir returned the embrace and twisted her neck to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Thank you, Pa,” she whispered, “for getting me out of that forest.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Little Owl. It’s what any good father would do for his precious little girl.”

“Well, now you’ve gone and made it weird…”

“Oh, just let me be a silly old man, will you?” he complained as he stepped back from the hug, still smiling despite his protest. “Now, go on before I start to cry. And don’t forget this.”

Safir looked down to see Fang resting on his open palm, its marbled blade still visibly sharp in its open-faced sheath. 

“I know you’ll do her proud, Little Owl. You’ll do us both proud.”

“I’ll do my best,” she answered, hooking the dagger’s scabbard onto a loop at the back of her belt. 

With silent smiles, they parted, Safir making her way out of the house and down the steps that led into the muddy alienage ground. West Hill awaited, but there were two more pieces of equipment yet to be collected before she could go there, and they were worth a brief detour.


	2. The Warden's Guide to Extortion

Even with a cynical eye, one had to admit that Amaranthine had done marvelously well for itself in the years since the darkspawn purge. The city had already recovered most, if not all of its prior bustle, and the evidence of its sacking was scarce. Only the odd bit of scorched stone on some of the thicker walls betrayed the fact that the entire city had once been set ablaze. The bulk of its walls had already been rebuilt, and on a sunny afternoon like this one the city looked as though it had never seen better days. 

But for all its resilience, the city still had an atmosphere of bleak desperation surrounding it, the black stone and mud leaving it with a rather grim appearance. Safir strolled through the inner roads, swerving around busy crowds and overly insistent street vendors peddling whatever wares they wanted to get rid of most. So unflattering was the city’s personality that it made every merchant seem to be desperate to sell enough goods to pick up and settle somewhere more pleasant. Annoying though these merchants were, one of them in particular was actually her reason for visiting while on her way to West Hill.

Deep within the city’s walls, she turned a corner and found herself face to face with the storefront she’d exited several years before. It looked much the same as it had then, with lantern light flickering through the windows and its cobblestone facade drooping slightly on the left side. Unlike last time, however, there were two more floors on top of the first, both wooden in construction and much better in quality. Clearly, the blacksmith who owned the place had seen some measure of success in the intervening years since her last visit. He’d even managed to put up a sign: _Aldous’s Fine Weapons & Armor_.

“Huh,” Safir said to herself as she approached the front door. “So, _that_ was his name.”

Once inside, she surveyed the front room, which was much improved and now came complete with a fireplace and a set of cushioned chairs for customers to sit in. The smith himself was nowhere to be found, though sitting on his counter was a small silver bell. Safir picked it up and gave it a single, stern ring before setting it back down and waiting for the esteemed proprietor to return. Moments later, the portly man emerged from the back room after having descended a set of stairs that likely led the way to his living quarters above. He yawned as he entered, perhaps having just been roused from a nap.

“Evening, miss, what can I… Maker’s Breath!” he shouted with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. “It’s you again! Where did I come by this luck?”

“You know who I am?” Safir asked him, startled by his excitement.

“Sure do!” he confirmed, wagging a finger in her direction. “I never forget a face, much less one I know belongs to the Hero of bloody Ferelden!”

“So you’re aware of _that_ now, are you?”

“That I am! Found out not long after you sold me your blades. Fine pieces of work, those swords. Did you finally change your mind about selling that dagger of yours?”

“Not exactly,” Safir denied, instinctively turning her body to better obscure Fang’s blade from his view.

“Well, then by all means, what can I help you with this fine day?”

“This isn’t a social call, and I’m not here to sell. I want my swords back.”

“Is that right?” he asked, nervously wringing his wrists as though she’d touched a nerve. 

“Yes, that’s right,” she affirmed slowly, narrowing her eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“Problem? No, no, no problem!” The smith hesitated a spell before giving in to Safir’s tapping foot and explaining himself. “There might be a slight complication with getting your swords back, however. That complication being I haven’t got them both.”

“You _sold_ them!” Safir shouted, slamming her fist on the counter. “Why couldn’t you tell me that up front?”

“Hey, that is not true!” he argued, backing away several steps and pointing accusingly at her as if to reprimand her for lying. “I didn’t sell them! I sold _one_ of ‘em.”

“For fuck’s sake… Which one?”

“The fancy one. Starfang was its name, if I recall.”

“Damn it,” Safir sighed, biting her lip and staring at the ground. “But you still have Moonmolar?”

“Sorry, did I hear you say Moonmolar?” the smith asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

Safir rolled her eyes. “That’s my other sword. I already had Starfang when I got it, and I thought it’d be funny to do an opposites thing.”

“Well, with jokes like that, it’s a lucky thing you kill monsters for a living!” 

“Fuck you, man. My friend thought it was hilarious.”

“Right,” he drawled, “and did that friend of yours have any interest in becoming more than a friend?”

Safir opened her mouth to argue but quickly realized that the smith had actually made a pretty valid case for explaining Alistair’s amusement. “That’s beside the point.” 

“Anyway, to answer your question, yes. I’ve got… _Moonmolar_ … in the back room.”

“Okay, great. Fine. I want it back.”

“No can do, I’m afraid,” he shook his head as though delivering bad news. “It’s not for sale.”

Safir leaned over the counter, propping herself up on her hands. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not every blacksmith in Thedas who gets to own equipment that once belonged to the fuckin’ Hero of Ferelden, is it?” The smith crossed his arms, apparently thinking he’d made a good show of defending his claim to the sword. “I’m keeping it, if that’s alright with you.”

“It’s not.”

“If you want it, you’ll have to drop a fair amount of coin. Seventy-five sovereigns sound good to you?”

“You paid less than that for both swords!” Safir fought, throwing up her hands. “That’s not even close to a fair price.”

“Well, I didn’t know they was yours, then, did I?” The smith dared to mock her, leaning in and shaking his head as if to taunt her. “For the Hero of Ferelden’s sword? Seventy-five sovereigns or nothing.”

“Alright, have it your way,” Safir changed tack, putting her hands on her hips and breathing calmly. “I choose nothing.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, miss. I can’t just give you a sword for—”

“That’s not what I meant, either. Give me back my sword free of charge or, if you prefer, I could just conscript you,” she explained, ice on her tongue. “You seem to admire the Wardens a lot. Why not become one?”

“What? You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“What, just conscript a blacksmith for no… Oi… Hang on a minute.” The smith scratched his chin, clearly straining under the pressure of putting together a complete thought. “You’re not the commander anymore! I heard tell that you disappeared, you did! Years ago! You can’t conscript me.”

“Oh? How many Wardens do you know who disappear for no reason?” Safir asked him, stepping forward again to press him further.

“Well, I suppose I—”

“And doesn’t that sound like just the sort of thing the Wardens would say if I was out on a secret assignment?”

“Wait… so… you’re still…?”

Safir nodded, raising her brows as she did just to embarrass him further.

“Maker’s breath, fine! Fine, just take your damn blade!” He turned away from the counter and went into the back room, presumably to retrieve Moonmolar and hand deliver it. “Bloody _fucking_ Wardens…”

He returned moments later with a scowl and a sword. She recognized Moonmolar’s hilt poking out from behind the cloth wrapping that surrounded the blade. 

“Your sword, miss.” He dropped it onto the counter without another word, staring at Safir while she unwrapped it and sheathed it on the right side of her belt.

“Perfect. What else do you—”

“Shame about Starfang, really,” he sighed longingly, cutting her off. “Fine blade, that. Slimy bastard what bought it from me neglected to mention whose it was until after he’d paid! Lucky me I had Moonmolar here in the back for polishing and was able to keep it. Would never have sold Starfang if I knew it was yours.”

“And if I wanted to get Starfang back?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have any idea who this slimy bastard was?”

“Oi… that’s a good idea! Promise me if you ever find the slippery fucker you’ll do him in for me, will you?”

“I kill most people I interact with,” Safir admitted, noticing the mild concern playing on the smith’s face. “There’s a good chance I’ll kill him, too, but not if you don’t tell me how to find him.”

“Right, right,” he finally composed himself enough to answer. “Greasy little prick, he was. Name’s Constantius. A collector. Said he was based in Vyrantium, wherever the fuck that is.”

“Vyrantium?” Safir repeated, her eyes flaring open in shock.

“That’s what I said.”

“Son of a bitch. That’s in Tevinter.”

“Ooh, bad luck, then.” Regaining his dignity, he soon set about the task of getting Safir to leave. “Right, then, if there’s nothing else you need…”

“Actually, there is,” she confirmed, ignoring his dejected plea for mercy. “I came here looking for two swords, but I’ve only got one. Think you could help me out?”

“Or what, you’ll conscript me?”

Safir shrugged.

“Maker damn you and your fucking right… Fine, I’ll go get another.”

“Make it a good one!” Safir called after him as he once again entered the back room. He came back moments later carrying a long steel blade with elaborate engraving on its flat.

“Here you are,” he complained, laying the sword on the counter. “No enchantments, but it’s a damn good blade that’ll keep its edge and serve you well. And considering its selling price of zero sovereigns…”

“It’s perfect,” Safir assured him, sheathing it opposite Moonmolar.

“Good,” he smiled and gestured toward the door. “Now kindly get the fuck out of my shop.”

“Now, is that any way to treat your favorite customer?” she admonished, already slinking out of the door in case he thought to throw a boot at her. 

With a heavier belt and an amused spring in her step, she made for the city gates and found herself once more on the road. Two weeks of marching through the second shittiest part of Ferelden took her to the ancient fortress of West Hill, which overlooked the Waking Sea from atop an enormous bluff. Having long been abandoned, the castle was damp, dark, and desolate, making it the ideal place to set camp. Of course, every highwayman, outcast, and criminal thought the same thing, which made it prized territory for those outside the law and those who preferred not to be found. So, instead of setting camp inside the fortress and risk becoming lost or getting into a fight, she took advantage of the clear sky and climbed to its pinnacle. Its long years of exposure to the elements—as well as to the gulls, whose droppings caked nearly surface atop the castle—had left it in sore need of repair. Wind and rain had even managed to bore holes in the roof large enough to fall through. Avoiding these sections, she set camp in the bottom of a ruined watchtower, where a hole in the wall allowed her to see outside with minimal risk of soaking her with rainwater. It was through this hole that she watched dusk pass into night as she lay in her bedroll and passed into sleep.

_She sat on a stiff wooden chair in the center of a pitch dark room, staring across it at a dilapidated wooden door set into a stone frame. Beneath it, red light flickered and filtered into the room, crawling across the cracks in the stone floor until it shattered and disappeared, taking the walls with it and leaving her suspended in a theater of scarlet clouds. She peered down into its depths and felt a great rush of air as she descended swiftly into the fog. Her eyes struggled to keep from drying out as she soared down, down, down among the wispy crimson mist._

_Her descent slowed, and below her a stone tower took shape, putting itself together just in time to catch her. She looked around herself, her heart racing with recognition as cracks of lightning and roars of fire filled the air. Ahead of her, forcing his way through a set of double doors, a knight in golden armor emerged onto the rooftop and stared into the sky as a great dragon beat its wings to land. The floor trembled and quaked when the dragon touched down, its massive bulk colliding into stone. It stood against the knight but did not attack. It did not breathe fire. It did not roar._

_It lowered its neck, presenting it to the knight calmly and closing its eyes. Chains sprung from nothing and surrounded her, locking her tightly into place on her chair. She tried to fight against them, to free herself, to save the knight, but she was powerless even to scream._

_There came a glint of steel, a deadly flash of silver against the red sky that plunged into the dragon’s hide and set the world ablaze. A blinding light followed by a blinding dark. There was no sound, no smell, no light, no taste. Nothing save the constricting of the chains to tell her she was real. And then, out of the dark, just on the edge of hearing, played a melody soft and sweet and sinister._

Safir lurched awake, rising from her bedroll in an instant with a damp, heaving chest. She steadied herself slowly in the pale light of dawn. There was no telling whether the nightmare had anything to do with the calling or if it was more mundane. In either case, the song’s appearance at its end bode ill. The sooner she found Finn, the sooner she found Morrigan, the sooner she could tell the Blight to fuck right off.

Quickly packing her belongings and donning her armor, Safir made her way down the castle walls, neglecting to eat before making her way to the city proper. The city of West Hill stood in the shadow of its namesake along the shore of the Waking Sea. From above, it looked to be about half the size of Denerim and was thankfully much easier to navigate. It stretched east to west along the coast, with only one main road spanning its length. After asking for directions, she had quite an easy time of locating the home of one Kingston Aldebrant, a rather handsome estate with elaborate masonry decorating its black stone facade.

She strode toward the dark wooden door and rapped it loudly, betting that the magistrate was actually home. Moments later, the door creaked open and out popped the suspicious head of a ginger-haired man at the far end of middle age.

“What do you want?” he asked quickly, staring down his nose at her with one raised brow.

“Are you Kingston Aldebrant?”

“That largely depends on why you’ve got those swords with you,” he dodged, eyes bouncing back and forth between Moonmolar and its nameless partner.

“They’re for self-defense, I promise. I’m here about your son, Finn,” she explained, hoping to be allowed entrance, or at least the privilege of not conversing with a disembodied head. 

“You’re here about Florian?” the man gasped, his eyes wide. “Why, my boy’s alright, isn’t he? Oh, dear Maker, please tell me my son is alright!”

“Well, I actually don’t—”

“Oh! Oh, damn! Oh, this can’t be!” Kingston moaned, his face contorting into every expression of grief imaginable. “Blast, I knew it was a bad idea to let him run off with that pickle-crazed Dalish! Oh, Maker, why have you taken my son from me? _Why_?!”

“I don’t know where Finn is!” Safir shouted, raising her palms to stop the poor sod’s wailing. “I’m trying to find him, and I was just hoping that you could tell me where he is.”

“So… he’s not dead?” the man whimpered.

“Well, he _could_ be. We have no way of knowing that right now.” Kingston’s face warped from optimism back into despair, prompting Safir to amend her response. “But I’m sure he’s not! He’s an… able man.”

“Right, right. And you said you wanted to find him, yes?” he asked, his hand poking through the crack in the door and pointing at Safir. “Who are you, exactly, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My name is Safir. I’m an old friend of his.”

“Well why didn’t you say so? Come on in!” With that, Kingston swung the door open wide and beckoned Safir to follow him inside. He wore a flowing red gown of silk with golden embroidery and thick black bands at the cuffs and hem. “Florence? Florence, my dear, come downstairs a while! We’ve a guest!”

Closing the door behind her, Safir entered the house but did not venture quite far, instead fidgeting awkwardly in the foyer as the magistrate summoned his wife. She finally descended a curved stairway and crossed the parlor to greet her, wrapped in a tight lavender dress and adorned with a shockingly eclectic collection of the gaudiest jewelry Safir had ever seen.

“Good day, ser!” she chimed with a bow, extending her hand for Safir to shake. “I am Lady Florence Aldebrant, but please feel free to call me Flory if you prefer.”

“Please, please, sit!” Kingston enjoined her, gesturing to the many upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace. “Make yourself at home!”

Doing as instructed, Safir chose the least ugly seat available and placed her hands in her lap as she sat. Neither the magistrate nor his wife took seats of their own, however. Instead they stood directly in front of Safir with plastered smiles and, apparently, nothing left to say. Safir moved her focus from one parent to the other and back, shrinking under the pressure of their relentless, unblinking stares. Finally daring to speak, she decided to ask after Finn in the most efficient possible manner.

“Do you—”

“So you’re looking for my son, is it?” Kingston interrupted. Then, turning to his wife, he added, “This young woman is called Safir, and she’s friends with our boy. Hopefully she’ll bring him back to us, or to the circle!”

“Well, I’m not sure if—”

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Florence asked her, brimming with obsessive hospitality. “It’s no trouble at all, honest!”

“I’m alright, thanks.”

“Are you sure? We have chamomile!”

“Quite sure, yes. Could we just talk about Finn, please?”

“Absolutely!” Kingston bellowed. “I won’t lie to you, Safir, darling. We haven’t seen our boy in years. The last time he was here, he had a little Dalish woman in tow. I suspect they may have been… Well, in any case, we haven’t seen him in a very long while.”

“Have you heard from him at all?” Safir ventured. If the answer was no, she would run free for her sanity’s sake.

“Why, yes!” confirmed his mother, bobbing happily up and down. “Just a year ago actually! He wrote us a lovely letter, didn’t he, Kingston?”

“Yes, dear, quite lovely.”

“Does he write you often?” Safir wondered aloud.

“Only once a year, the inattentive loaf!” Kingston declared, hands on his hips. “As part of our agreement.”

“Wait a minute, you have an agreement with him? What kind of agreement?”

“Well,” he began, pacing back and forth and gesturing as though speaking to an audience of one hundred instead of one, “the last time he was here, he came to say goodbye. Said he was moving on to bigger and better things. Hogwash, say I, but we were powerless to stop him leaving. So, we worked out a deal. He goes free, but he writes us every year to remind us that he’s alive and set our worries at ease.”

“Great! That’s excellent!” Safir shouted, springing up from her chair. “So, where was he when he last wrote you?”

“Oh, it’s truly ghastly!” Florence lamented, touching the back of her hand to her forehead as if on the verge of fainting. “I can scarcely bear to imagine it! My poor boy, living among those filthy Chasind barbarians!”

“The Chasind? So he was in the south, then?”

“That’s right,” she sniveled, clutching her heart. “All that way south, deep into the Wilds, he said! All for the purpose of learning about those savages.”

Safir gathered her thoughts, the beginnings of a plan already forming in her head. “Did Finn say anything more specific than that?”

“Not very much,” Kingston answered, placing a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Only that he was roaming the Wilds under the protection of a shaman called Dornul, who lived in a small village somewhere due southeast of Ostagar. I know that isn’t much information to go on, but please, do you think you could find him and convince him to come home?”

“I will do my very best,” Safir nodded, satisfied. “You have my word. Now, I really should be going, as it’s getting quite late.”

“Late?” Florence repeated, furrowing her brows in confusion. “It’s barely past noon!”

“Right, exactly!” she breathed, facing the door. “Bedtime for me, really, so I think I’ll just head on out and let you fine folk relax. Do enjoy the rest of your day.”

Safir sped along to the exit before either of Finn’s parents could object and hurriedly made her way back to the city’s exit. Her new destination in mind, she set off down the road and began following the Imperial Highway south into the bowels of Ferelden.


	3. A Warden Abroad

The Korcari Wilds stretched endlessly in all directions, an inescapable bog rendered in every ugly shade of green and brown in existence and entirely without warmth or beauty. At the top of a bald hill, Safir peered into the distant horizons hoping to spot a plume of smoke or some other evidence of a village nearby. Behind her, marked by the barely visible Tower of Ishal, stood Ostagar behind a veil of gray air. Whipping out her compass, Safir checked her heading.

 _Due southeast of Ostagar_ , she recalled. Then, casting her eyes above the canopy of pine, she set her sights on the furthest landmark available in that direction and slowly made her way back down the hill. 

Not two hours later, she stood at the top of yet another hill. By now, Ostagar was impossible to see, fully obscured by fog and distance. Thankfully, a far more encouraging vista lay ahead: white smoke twisting up into the sky only a few leagues ahead. Her destination near at hand, Safir scrambled down the hill as quickly as safety would allow and then some. Onward she marched through the swamp, winding around ponds big and small and snaking her way towards what she hoped was Dornul’s village.

She slowed her pace only when a sinister scent reached her nose from somewhere in the trees before her. In most places, the Wilds smelled as it looked. Brown, wet, and ugly. But here, standing before a dense thicket of leafless trees on a narrow path flanked on boths sides by scum-clad ponds, something different hung in the air. It was brown, wet, ugly, and _sharp_. Safir’s fingers coiled around the hilts of her swords, an instinctive response to the unmistakable scent of kaddis. She drew the blades slowly, scanning the trees ahead for some sign of her would-be trapper. The moment they were free of their sheathes, the air was alight with the vicious, bloodthirsty barks of several mabari. The next instant, they charged from the trees and surrounded her, six or seven of them circling her in a ten foot radius. They snarled and growled like a mob at the gallows, begging for the moment they could tear her apart.

Safir whipped around, brandishing her blades and preparing to defend herself against the dogs. Something kept them at bay, however. None would approach her or allow her to approach them. 

“What the fuck do you want?!” she demanded of the forest, the rasping anger of her voice projecting a false confidence she prayed would keep her out of a fight. 

But nothing happened. Still the dogs barked, still they surrounded her, still the trees were quiet. Her frustration grew until she found herself growling and snarling just like the mabari set against her, clutching her swords with white knuckles and arms poised to strike. 

“If you care about your dogs, you’ll show yourself, coward!” she screamed, her eyes frantically piercing every opening in the trees ahead. “No? Which one should I kill first, then?! Blue kaddis? Red?”

Clearly, the hollow threat accomplished little. The mabari barked and snapped. The forest was silent. Digging in her heel, she prepared to make a break for it. She doubted she could outrun the dogs, and she certainly couldn’t hide from their noses, but running still gave her better odds than waiting to be mauled. Just as she coiled her stance to sprint away, something heavy and flat collided with a thud against her back, sending her face first into the mud ahead. Rolling over on the mucky ground, she came face to face with an enormous Chasind warrior wielding a bone maul almost twice her size. He hefted it with ease, raising its head far above his own and winding up to hammer it straight through her chest. 

Safir rolled to the right just as he brought it down, narrowly avoiding being crushed. With the maul’s head still half embedded into the mud, the barbarian was an easy target. She threw her foot into his knee as hard as she could, striking at it from the side and robbing him of enough balance to get to her feet. 

She backed away immediately, still surrounded by the mabari, and squared off against her opponent. 

“You are not Chasind!” the warrior bellowed, sneering at Safir from behind a braided black beard. His red face bore a tattoo in the form of two converging lines beginning on his cheeks and crossing over his eyes before coming together on his forehead. A thin strip of hair ran down the top of his head and ended in a short ponytail. He dragged the maul behind himself with burly arms as he closed the distance and readied another attack. “You are not Chasind! You die!”

He swung horizontally, forcing Safir to duck underneath the maul’s path. Taking advantage of his wide stance, she dove between his legs with a half turn and landed on her back just in time to ram a steel-tipped boot straight into his groin. He howled in pain upon impact, bringing his knees together as he collapsed onto the dirt, huffing in agony. The mabari surrounding them quieted as soon as they recognized their master’s defeat.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry to do that to you,” Safir winced, though she was slightly amused by the sight of a man nearly as large as Sten writhing helplessly on the ground.

“You… are… not Chasind,” the man wheezed, pointing an accusing finger in Safir’s direction.

“So you’ve said! Look, I mean you no harm.”

“That is difficult to believe!” he protested, still clutching his balls.

“You started it!”

“True… and you have not killed me, though it would be very easy now.”

“I’m just looking for my friend, okay?” she defended herself quickly. “He came through here about a year ago, and I think he may have stuck around for a while. Said he was with a shaman called Dornul.”

“ _Dornul_?” he repeated, slowly rising to his knees. “Dornul is my shaman. What does your friend look like?”

“Like a pretentious, condescending asshat with a Dalish girl following him around.”

“That sounds very familiar… Was his name Flora?”

Safir did her best to contain her laughter. That was Ariane’s work, no doubt. “Yup, that’s him. Can you help me find him?”

“I cannot. I am only a trapper,” the warrior admitted, pulling himself off the ground using his maul’s haft. “But I can lead you to Dornul, if you promise never to return.”

“I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be, I swear.”

“Good. It is this way. You will follow.”

Almost limping, the barbarian progressed down the path and sunk into the tree line ahead, beckoning his mabari to take point. Just behind him, Safir grinned awkwardly each time he looked back at her glowering. She supposed there was little that could be done to ease the tension between herself and a man whose family jewels she’d just abused. Still, there must have been some kind of martial respect present between the two, and there was no harm in trying to bring it to the fore.

“So,” Safir began, stretching the word out, “have you got a name?”

“Yes,” the man huffed, his attention fixed on the way forward. Several seconds of silence demonstrated his unwillingness to converse. But with no knowledge of how much longer the trip to the village would be, Safir thought it best to press him for information anyway.

“What is it?” she asked, sweetening her voice.

“It is mine,” he growled.

“I’m Safir. Safir Tabris. If you were wondering.”

“I was not.”

“Cool. Very cool,” she stalled, inwardly sighing and praying the trip to Dornul would be a short one. “What about the dogs? Have they got names?”

“Yes,” the man groaned, “they have names known to those who must know them. They are not for you. Please do not speak again.”

“Okay, sure.” Safir glanced lazily this way and that, peering into the swampy forest in an attempt to find something interesting enough to distract herself with. Failing that rather quickly, she instead chose to study the Chasind guiding her to his village. His broad shoulders were visibly tense even covered as they were by hide armor. As she silently watched, they slowly relaxed until his posture and gait seemed entirely at ease. “How much farther is it to the village?” she asked, relishing the sight of his shoulders jumping up to his ears.

“Not. Far,” he insisted, speaking through a clenched jaw. “Talk again and I will attack. You will be forced to kill me, and my dogs will inform my village. We are close enough now that you will never leave the Wilds alive.”

Choosing self-preservation over humor, she heeded the man’s warning with a nod he could not even see and remained silent throughout the rest of the journey. They arrived at a small Chasind camp less than an hour later. The village was built on high stilts over a bog that stretched as far as the trees allowed her to see. Several Chasind milled about on the wooden boardwalks that connected their huts to one another, each of them eyeing her suspiciously.

“Wait here,” the barbarian ordered, raising an open hand to stop Safir walking any further. Leaving her at the water’s edge, he ascended a set of rickety wooden steps and disappeared behind a curtain of woven reeds into a small shack at the edge of the village. He emerged moments later and walked to the top of the stairs but did not get any closer. He raised his right arm and pointed into the forest to Safir’s left. “Dornul is… communing. He is in his mud hole. Speak to him, and do not return.”

Safir acknowledged the order with a simple thumbs up and left before the barbarian could change his mind about killing her. She trudged through difficult terrain, her boots constantly sinking into mud, until she’d ventured far enough into the pines to find a small round hut made of sod and topped with moss. Firelight flickered out from a window held open by crossed branches, indicating that someone was home. The hut had no door, but was guarded instead by a series of three concentric fences and gates made from sticks and reeds, each of which was short enough to step over with some effort. Upon reaching the entrance, she rapped on the hardened mud wall, much to the surprise of the man sitting cross-legged inside. 

“Who goes there?!” he shouted, turning around and crouching on all fours with his eyes trained on the entrance. “An elf? An elf goes there! It’s been some time since I’ve seen one of those.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a crazy person,” Safir answered, the sharpness of her eyes matching the edge in her voice. 

“Nonsense! The craziest person in the world is the one who lives right _here_ ,” he objected, knocking on his own, alarmingly resonant skull. He relaxed as soon as it became clear that Safir was not interested in fighting him, sitting down and beckoning her inside with a wave of his thin, wiry arm. “Now, then onto business! Why have you summoned me here?” he asked, scratching at his patchy white beard.

“I didn’t summon you here,” Safir argued, crossing her arms.

“Well if you didn’t summon me, why am I here?”

“I assume this is your home.”

“And so what if it is? Are you saying one can’t be summoned to his own home?”

“Um… I guess not?”

“Aha! I _knew_ it!” he cheered, pointing a shaky finger at her heart. “Very well, then, ask your questions.”

“Maker’s balls,” Safir muttered, bewildered by the man’s erratic behavior, “I’ve met lyrium addled mages less insane than you.”

“Less insane than Dornul? I should think not!” he proclaimed, clapping his hands to his thighs. “No one’s less insane than me! Right then, if there’s nothing else I can help you with...”

“I haven’t even asked my question yet!”

“That wasn’t it? About the Maker and his balls?”

“No! That was just… colorful commentary!”

“Well, fair’s fair. Ask.”

Bracing herself with a sigh, Safir reminded herself why she was here to begin with and thought of the calling for motivation. “I’m looking for my friend. You might know him as Flora. I heard from his parents that he visited you about a year ago.”

“Ahh, the ginger-haired boy with the elf girl, yes?” he nodded, then mumbled to himself. “She had tattoos on her face, if I remember right. Yes, tattoos and green armor. Very pretty armor. Pretty armor for a pretty girl, not much unlike this new elf. Had a strange name, though...”

Safir cleared her throat loudly to get the shaman back on track.

“Right! Yes! Mage boy, correct?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “I’m looking for the mage boy. Do you know where he is, or can you help me find him?”

Dornul swayed back and forth from his sitting position, speaking inaudibly to himself while leaning back and shaking his head with closed eyes. “Yes, I think I may be able to tell you where he is, or at the very least where he went.”

“Great. That’s perfect. Where is he?”

“I shall tell you in just one moment! But first, I must consult with the spirits!”

Springing up from the ground, Dornul hopped to the back of the hut, where a pile of miscellaneous crap sat opposite a small fireplace. He began picking up objects at random and tossing them over his back, chicken bones and a pouch of ash among the assorted trinkets. Then, with a cry of satisfaction, he picked up a glass bottle—quite obviously not a work of Chasind design—and pressed it to his lips. Several generous swigs later, he corked the bottle and tossed it back onto the pile before staggering back to where he sat in front of Safir.

“He told me he was going to Gwaren. Left about two months ago.”

Safir rolled her eyes with more enthusiasm than ever before, rubbing her temples as the fool of a shaman resumed his swaying. 

“Did he say what he’d be doing there?” she ventured, enduring the lunatic’s company in search of more complete information.

“Not as far as I remember,” whispered Dornul, paying more attention to his movement than to her question. “He simply told me, ‘I’m going to Gwaren, I am! It’ll be grand!’ And then off he went to Gwaren, I suppose. Now, before I go, there is one more thing I’d like to ask you, if you’re of a mind.”

“I came to you, remember?”

“Oh, yes. That’s right isn’t it? Well, in any case, my question is this.” Dornul leaned forward, staring ominously at Safir and pausing for effect. “What day is it?”

“I don’t know,” Safir complained, already rising to her feet. “Goodbye.”

Exiting the hut with as much haste as the cramped environment could accommodate, she checked her compass again and set off to the northeast, aiming to leave the Korcari Wilds behind for the eastern edge of the Southron Hills. From there, a quick trip through the Brecilian Passage would take her to Gwaren, and hopefully to Finn.

Before long, however, the sun was setting and she trudged as before through a bleak and endless landscape of muck and grime. This monotony, stretching uninterrupted for miles, was broken only when she reached a small clearing in the swamp in which a half-ruined wooden house stood beside a pond. To the best of Safir’s knowledge, no one had actually lived here since the Blight. Yet, despite its long years of abandonment, the Wilds had not yet reclaimed Flemeth’s hut. Roots and vines slithered across the ground and coiled around the wooden posts holding the shack aloft but did not go any further, almost as if repulsed by lingering magic. Though she shared whatever discomfort or revulsion the vines felt, there was little light left in the day and Safir had precious few options. 

She crept up the stairs leading into the house slowly, straining her ears to pick up any noise that might come from inside. At the door, she took silence for vacancy and let herself in, eyes sweeping the familiar main room. She recalled her first meeting with Ariane, of hoping she could keep Pork from mauling her. Her memories fell farther back in time, to the sight of an indifferent witch tending to a pair of injured Wardens. The bed she’d found herself in all those years ago now stood under a gaping hole in the ceiling and was occupied by the rotten planks that had once been fixed in place above it. 

Few rooms in Ferelden could be said to be worse than this, but staying the night indoors was still preferable to roughing it outside. Safir pushed as much wood and debris off the bed as she could, even removing the damp blankets that had once warmed her. Then, ripping a moth-eaten curtain from its place by the window, she draped it across the mattress and struggled to find her way to sleep. The night would not be comfortable, but thankfully Flemeth’s hut was built near the edge of the Wilds; the next morning, she would be well on her way to the Brecilian Passage and to Gwaren. Three nights later, she set camp on the edge of the forest, dreading her inevitable return to its depths. 

Predictably, the Brecilian Forest had changed little in the year and a half since she’d been there. The overgrown wood was as dense, green, and gloomy as ever and her spirits not much different than they were during her extended visit. The Passage represented the only place in the forest that civilized folk had managed to tame, which said more about the strategic importance of Gwaren than about the determination of the woodcutters who’d cleared it. Indeed, getting to Gwaren was Safir’s sole reason for braving the path through the forest. Aside from one or two minor incidents involving sylvans and a persistent suspicion of nearby wolves, Safir made it through the Passage more or less unscathed, ending up on the forest’s edge only a few miles from the nearest bits of settled land. With luck, this tiny piece of Ferelden would still be home to Finn.


	4. Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire, Scourge of the South

Less than a day out from the Brecilian Passage, Safir arrived in a miserable little town on the edge of the world, or more specifically, on the edge of Gwaren. Night had already fallen, and the city’s outskirts had lit their lanterns in response. Tiny floating balls of light in the distance at first, they now swung back and forth under porch ceilings or sat still on stoops and railings, illuminating the gloomy hamlet just enough for travelers to find their way home. As she walked about the town looking left and right at the dilapidated buildings it hosted, she began to hear a set of feet echoing the steps of her own.

“You lost, there, girlie?”

She whipped around in an instant, readying a combative stance against the source of the gruff voice. A rotund old fellow with scraggly hair and a healthy coating of stubble on his face, he leered at her from afar, not willing to approach any closer.

“I think I’m fine, thanks,” she finally answered, pulling Moonmolar a few inches out of its sheath so that it would gleam in the lamplight.

“Maker’s breath, I was only asking if you were lost!” the man grunted, almost losing his balance as he backed away several paces reflexively. “Honest! My name’s Gamrie, or Gam for short, if you like. I run the tavern at the edge o’ town.”

“Why are you following me?” she demanded, squinting at him in the low light.

“You looked lost! Can’t blame me for trying to direct a weary traveler to my tavern, can ya?”

“I guess not. You think you might be able to help me, Gam?”

“If helping you will convince you to buy a drink, I am at your command, miss!”

Safir inched her way closer to where Gam stood twiddling his thumbs. “I’m looking for someone. Old friend of mine. Figure maybe a barkeep would know everyone who came in and out of town, right?”

“Well, I dunno about _everyone_ ,” he doubted, “but I’m certainly willing to try! You need only describe this friend o’ yours.”

“Ginger hair, sort of whiny voice. Might have a Dalish girl with him.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen any Dalish ‘round these parts, but I have seen a ginger man of that description. Matter o’ fact, he’s in my tavern as we speak! All the more reason for you to come on in and have an ale! Maybe even rent a room for the night?”

“Has this ginger man been here very long?” Safir wondered, stepping closer still.

“About a month, maybe two,” he answered, scratching his chin. “Does that sound right?”

“Lead the way, Gam,” she nodded.

Looking quite pleased with himself, Gam led Safir away from the main street and into a poorly lit back alley with rundown buildings on one side and a small forest on the other. The further down the alley they went, the worse condition the buildings seemed to be in. Down they continued until at last they reached the very end of the road, where they stopped at a building so poorly that it was a wonder it was standing at all.

“You’ll have to forgive me if the place is a little… untidy,” Gam confessed before swinging the front door open and holding it for Safir to enter.

She looked around herself with tired eyes as she navigated the crowded tavern. The place was seedy, the type of bar only criminals and louts go to, and the stench of liquor was almost indistinguishable from that of blood. Her boots crunched over broken glass, the splintering shards scarring aged and creaky floorboards, and more than once she had to dodge drunken punches aimed at other patrons while she made her way across the ground floor. She’d only just made it to the back wall unscathed when a familiar voice floated down the stairs from the mezzanine above. She made her way up, stepping over the hopefully unconscious body of a man with sick and blood painting his bare chest, and finally set her eyes upon the man she came to find. He was leaning back in a rickety chair, drink in hand and crossed feet propped up onto the table, and flanked on either side by unruly mercenaries, sailors, and other members of Gwaren’s seething underbelly. His voice barely able to rise above their collected enthusiasm, it wasn’t until she got quite close that she was able to make out what he was saying.

“—So I kicked him through the open window and threw the entire barrel out after him! Then I turned back to face his lackeys and said, ‘what a crushing bore!’”

The men surrounding the table erupted into laughter, many of them slapping meaty paws onto it with enough force to make the drinks rock across its top, some of them even falling over the edge. Their thunderous response to the pun was such that its author lost his balance on the chair and was just barely able to prevent himself from falling backwards by throwing his legs down in front of him, spilling drink on the tattered leathers that covered his body. 

“Oh, Maker damn it!” he shouted, using his free hand to wipe as much of the drink as he could off of his chest. “I just had these cleaned! I’d better get a washcloth before this stains.”

Safir crossed her arms, raising an amused eyebrow as she watched him clumsily turn around to go back downstairs. He stopped dead in his tracks the moment he saw her, long ginger hair framing his wide eyes. 

“Hi, Finn,” she greeted, waving with her fingers and smirking at his surprise.

“Safir?!” he gasped, his mouth agape, letting the scruff on his chin catch the light from behind him. “Maker’s breath! Hey everyone, look! It’s Safir!”

Leaning right to make herself visible, Safir eyed the men at the table to find that none of them seemed to know if they were supposed to recognize the name. Then, before she knew it, Finn’s arm was around her and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“She’s the Warden I told you about!” he exclaimed, sensing their confusion. “The one who first taught me how to fight with reckless abandon and kill everyone who dares stand in my way! How about a toast, eh? To killing people!”

Finn raised his tankard with a cheer and the crowd were quite happy to partake in the toast, echoing his proclamation before emptying their mugs. 

“Come on, Safir, sit with us a while!” he insisted, pulling her towards the table. “These are my friends, I’ll introduce you! This one’s a highwayman. I think he said his name was Chip, but I can’t remember. I was already drunk when I met him a couple hours ago.”

“Actually, Finn, I was hoping to talk to you in private,” she said, pulling his arm off of her shoulder before he could botch another introduction.

“In private? What the hell for?” he protested, extending an arm to gesture to the table. “This is where all the fun’s at!”

“I’ll pass, thanks. Just follow me,” Safir refused, grabbing his wrist and leading him stumbling down the stairs and out into the night, where the tavern’s ruckus was deadened some by the wooden walls.

“Ah, that’s better,” Finn suddenly spoke, blinking around himself to adjust to the lower light. “So anyway, after I threw the barrel out the rest of the crew were understandably upset. I’d just killed their leader, after all, and they wanted blood for blood. That’s when I—”

“I’m not here to listen to your stupid story, Finn,” she stopped him. “Save it for the drunks.”

“Oh, alright. So, what are you here for, then?” he asked, swaying back and forth on unsteady feet and licking droplets of mead off of his bracer.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Freedom happened to me, Safir! Pure, unadulterated freedom!” Swinging his arms about himself to drive the point home, he quickly lost balance and fell onto his ass. He grunted at the pain and then laid back to stare at the sky, mud staining his messy hair. “I’m a new man. Oh, you should have seen it, Safir! Telling the templars off, Ariane by my side! I was incredible!”

“Is Ariane still with you?” 

“Oh, probably. She doesn’t like to drink, so she usually just waits at our camp whenever I go into town.”

“I think I can see why,” Safir responded, kicking lightly at his side to get him to sit up again. “Your parents were worried about you. Shouldn’t you check in with them?”

“No!” he denied, extending the word as much as he could. “ _That’s_ not until next month! You can tell my parents to shove off!”

“Well, I’m not here on their behalf,” she explained. “I need your help again.”

“ _My_ help? You want _my_ help?” he asked, burping as he finished the question. “Get in line, sister! Everyone seems to want my help these days! Why, just the other night, a Tal-Vashoth asked me to deal with the Qunari who were following him. Roasted them alive, I did! Or did I dream that...”

Sighing, Safir pulled a healing tonic from her pack and shoved it in Finn’s face. “Drink this.”

“Why? What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“Gin. Bottoms up.”

“No thanks!” he yelled, using the back of his hand to push Safir’s away. “I hate gin!”

“Not this kind. This is the good kind of gin.”

“Oh, then why didn’t you say so? Give it here!”

Some moments after downing it, the tonic began to take effect and Finn finally seemed to sober up. Noticing the flavor in his mouth, he furrowed his brows in confusion. “That’s not like any gin I’ve ever tasted. Why do I feel like I’m not drunk anymore?”

“That was a healing potion, idiot. I need you sober. Get up.”

Finn did as instructed, giving Safir a resentful glance before walking past her toward the road. “Your tongue is as sharp as ever, I see. Where are we, anyway?”

“Outside Gwaren. Why, I’m not sure. I tracked you here from south of the Wilds.”

“Oh. Fascinating people, those Chasind. Took me a while to convince them I wasn’t trying to kill them, but they came around eventually,” he said, stretching his sides. 

“I’m shocked you were able to stay with them for so long. Five minutes with Dornul and I was ready to slice my own throat.”

“Oh, yes, the other Chasind despise him. They’re counting down the days until he dies, if you ask me.” Finn continued stretching, his hands pressing against his back as he leaned into them with an arch. “Where did you go, all those years ago? You left Ariane and I wondering if we’d done something to piss you off.”

“Everything pissed me off back then. I don’t know if you could tell by the way I collapsed in front of the mirror, but it wasn’t exactly a happy reunion,” Safir explained, walking forward to stand side by side with the apostate. “It wasn’t anything you two did. And for what it’s worth, it’s nice to see that you guys are still together.”

“Together?” he asked, turning to face her with one eyebrow raised. “We’re not together. Not that way.”

“Really? Sure seemed like it was headed there.”

“Well, if you have to know, we _have_ been. Together, that is. In the fun way.”

“But?”

“But we quickly realized it wouldn’t work. It only happened a few times, anyhow, and it was always pretty awkward afterwards. We agreed to keep things… friendly.” Rocking his head side to side to work out the kinks in his neck, he changed the subject. “So, you need my help, is it? What with?”

“Same thing as before, believe it or not,” Safir answered. “I’m trying to find Morrigan again, but the only lead I have is that mirror we found. Do you think you could reactivate it? Or find out where it leads?”

Finn raised his eyebrows and scratched his chest through a gap in the leather padding on his coat. Then he sighed, blowing his cheeks up in the process and beginning to pace back and forth.

“Well?”

“You realize what you’re asking, right? I don’t know much about ancient elven magic,” he said, beginning a list with the fingers on his left hand. “I barely know anything about what an eluvian is, let alone how one of them works. I don’t have access to Circle resources anymore on account of my apostasy, and even the scrying ritual I used last time only let us find Morrigan’s eluvian because it was functioning. Even with Ariane’s help and whatever clues you might have, it’s a tall order.”

“I don’t care how hard it is, Finn. I just need it to be possible.”

“Well, it is at that. Why are you looking for Morrigan, anyway?”

“Like I said, it wasn’t a happy reunion,” Safir replied, rubbing her palm to her forehead. “I want to try again, and besides, I need her help.”

“So you need my help to get her help?” he asked. “Why not just get my help with whatever it is you need her help with?”

“Do you know anything about ancient Grey Wardens, or how they invented the ritual that made them into Wardens in the first place?”

“Er, no. No, I don’t.”

Safir swept her hand outward by way of response, confirming that this was the reason Finn’s help would not suffice. 

“Well, if we’re going to find Morrigan again, we’d better get started. Come on, then,” he beckoned, already having started down the road and out of the city. “You mind camping with me and Ariane?”

“Not if you don’t.”

“I don’t. But it’s not me you need to worry about,” he said, worry on his voice. “Ariane didn’t take your disappearance quite as well as I did.”

“No?”

“She was quite angry. Though, I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you again!”

“You’re lying, aren’t you?” Safir asked.

“Oh, yes. She’ll probably be furious,” Finn said, walking backwards now to face Safir as he spoke. “But she’s all talk, I promise. I’m sure that once you explain what a… er… well…”

“What a miserable wreck I was?”

“Your words, not mine,” Finn agreed, raising his palms as if to claim innocence. “But yes, that. Once you explain that, I’m sure she’ll forgive you. Besides, it’ll be the start of a whole ‘nother adventure! We’ll finally be able to stop wandering aimlessly!”

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?” Safir wondered aloud. “Wandering Ferelden and—how did you put it—killing anyone who gets in your way?”

“Mostly, yes,” he confirmed. Then, noticing her unspoken disdain, he added, “In my defense, I haven’t killed _that_ many people. Leastways, not without Ariane’s help. But you have to exaggerate in a bar like that one. One sign of weakness and those barbarians will turn you into worm food!”

“And you haven’t considered not keeping the company of barbarians?”

“Of course I have! You think I _like_ spending time with those ruffians?”

“That’s what it looked like,” she answered pointedly.

“Well, I don’t,” he declared defensively. “It’s just, towns like that are the only place in Ferelden the Templars don’t come knocking, and I _am_ , technically, an apostate. Anyway, having some purpose again will be a welcome change. I’m sure Ariane will be thrilled.”

“Fantastic. I couldn’t be happier,” Safir lied, praying that her better spirits would allow her to endure Finn and Ariane’s company without too much irritation. 

Walking through the streets in silence, the pair left the town and walked a short way on the road that led to the Brecilian Forest. Traveling through it again on her way to Gwaren was, predictably, a sour thing for her mood. She hoped that Finn and Ariane wouldn’t mind keeping to a quick pace on their way out. After about half an hour of walking, Finn said they were nearing the camp and slowed down some.

“Something wrong?” Safir asked.

“You never answered my question.”

“Which one?” 

“You didn’t say where you went after you left me and Ariane,” he explained, having taken on a somewhat somber tone.

“Right,” she sighed. “Amaranthine.”

“No,” he responded, an edge in his voice. “That’s the first place we looked for you, and we didn’t find you there. You weren’t at Vigil’s Keep either.”

“I was only there for one night.”

“So where did you go after?”

“I just went away, alright?” she snapped, hoping he would lay off. “Does it matter where?”

“We were worried about you, Safir, that’s all,” he assured her, giving her a sidelong glance. She couldn’t tell if it was sympathy or confusion on his face. “It would make me feel better to know you were at least safe, or in good company.”

“Safe? Marginally. Company? I didn’t have much.” Sensing that he wouldn’t let the issue go until she explained herself fully, Safir headed off the rest of the conversation by being blunt. “I sold my swords and then went south, where I hired a pair of carpenters to build me a treehouse deep in the Brecilian Forest, and I lived there by myself for a few years. Happy now?”

Finn’s eyes were wide, and she could tell he was sorry that he’d asked. Thinking she may have been a bit too harsh, Safir sighed and admitted that it was a perfectly natural question to ask, after all. 

“Look, it’s a long story, it’s all very depressing, and I’d rather not talk about it. I appreciate your concern.”

“Fair enough,” Finn accepted, returning his attention to the path ahead. “If you ever do want to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she answered, trying to will her thoughts away from dwelling on Alistair again. Thankfully, Finn’s assurance that they were nearly at the camp brought with it a decent distraction.

“So, we’re almost there,” he said, having gone pale. “We’re just a short way into the wood, this way. Listen, if it’s alright with you, could you wait here? I’m not sure how she’ll react, you know, when I tell her the news, so to speak. That I’ve found you, that is.”

“That _you_ found _me_?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I didn’t wade through the muck in Chasind wildlands so that you could take credit.”

“Excellent point. I’ll make sure Ariane knows you found me first. Now, if you please, I’ll only be a moment.”

With that, Finn cast off deeper into the wood and left Safir alone to roll her eyes at his caution. From where she stood, she could see a hint of firelight poking through the trees and decided not to be kept waiting after all. She crept as silently as she could behind Finn, careful to stay out of sight and out of earshot. She wasn’t going to wait for him to come back, but she was smart enough to heed his warning about Ariane’s temperament. 

Upon his return to the campsite, she heard Ariane’s voice speak up, sounding surprised.

“You’re back already? What’s the matter, Finn?” she asked.

With his back to her, Safir couldn’t hear the response. Instead she watched Ariane’s face as it flashed from concern through surprise and finally came to a rest at anger. She stood at once, demanding to know where Safir was. Finn did his best to calm her down, and she seemed to agree to something, crossing her arms and scanning the forest in the direction of the road. That was good enough for Safir.

She intercepted Finn on his way to find her and joined him to greet Ariane at last. Wordlessly, she walked to the far side of the campsite and tossed her pack onto the ground before turning to face the others and sitting down.

“Hey,” she said simply.

“ _Hey_?” Ariane asked, stomping toward Safir with pointed eyebrows and wild eyes. “You disappear for years only to show up unannounced in the middle of nowhere, and all you have to say for yourself is _hey_?!”

“Hey, how are you?” Safir amended, giving Finn a wink.

“ _How am I_?” she repeated, nearly screaming. “Are you joking?!”

“Yeah, I think so,” Safir answered, watching the veins pop in Ariane’s forehead. Maker, how she missed pissing people off.

“You have some nerve!” Ariane continued. “Ugh, I could hit you!”

“Probably.”

“Please don’t antagonize her, Safir,” Finn pleaded.

“But it’s so fun!”

“Well, I’m glad being a royal bitch is so entertaining for you, Safir!” Ariane bit. 

“Oh, get over yourself, will you? Finn told me you’d be angry, so I thought I’d piss you off and get it out of your system all at once. Did it work?”

“No. It didn’t work,” she answered bitterly. “Where the hell were you? Why did you just vanish?”

“Short answer is I was sad,” Safir said. Noticing the dissatisfaction on the other elf’s face, she elaborated. “Long answer is I was very sad.”

Ariane rolled her eyes and stormed off back to her tent. “Fine, we’ll settle this tomorrow. I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me.”

Safir looked at Finn with a smile, waggling her eyebrows up and down. 

“Welcome to camp,” he sighed. “Get some rest. We’ll explain everything to Ariane in the morning.”


	5. Witch Hunt 2: Electric Boogaloo

Safir woke to the scent of cooking meat and the sound of feet shuffling about a crackling fire. Her stomach growled as if to voice its excitement at the prospect of a free meal and she sat up at once, stretching out her arms. Normally she’d have stayed in her bedroll for at least another hour before finally getting bored of the quiet and setting out, but an empty stomach and the promise of food made short work of her morning laze. She parted the flaps of her tent and crawled out blinking into the sunlight.

“Morning, everyone,” she yawned. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Rabbit,” Finn answered promptly. “Freshly caught.”

Ariane’s answer was a quiet look of contempt.

“Freshly caught? I suppose I have you to thank for that, Ariane.”

“What? No, it was me, Safir!” Finn cried indignantly. “I tracked it for an hour before I killed it with my bare hands!”

“Really?” she gasped, eyebrows raised.

“No, only kidding. It was Ariane.”

Stepping forward to take some of the meat for herself, Safir attempted to make eye contact with the other elf. Evidently she was still not in the mood for friendly chat.

“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually, you know,” she said between mouthfuls of rabbit. “Do you at least want to yell at me some more?”

“What good would that do?” Ariane finally snapped, still refusing to look her way. Instead she simply picked at her piece of rabbit as though punishing it for Safir’s actions years ago. “You might just run off again.”

“Don’t worry about that, Ariane,” Safir answered in a ridiculous dulcet voice. “Nothing you say to me could ever matter enough to make me run away.”

“No?” she asked, voice low and nostrils flared. “Try me.”

“With pleasure.”

“What?”

“That was me trying you,” Safir explained. “Didn’t seem to amount to much.”

“Why you little—”

“Ladies, please, if I may,” Finn began, raising his hands in a desperate effort to head off whatever argument Ariane was about to start. “We have more important things to figure out than how angry certain of us may or not be at certain others of us. Perhaps we should focus on that?”

“Oh, come on, Finn,” Safir complained, “we were _this_ close.”

“To what?”

“To Ariane finally pulling the stick out of her ass and getting everything off her chest!”

“You disappear without a word and _I’m_ the one with a stick up my ass?!” 

“Hey, you don’t hear me bitching, do you?”

“Creators… _Fen’Harel ma halam_!” Ariane shouted, stomping away into the woods after shouldering her bow and arrows.

“Fen what now?” Safir asked her as she exited the clearing, though the only response she got was a rude gesture.

“I think it means something about the Dread Wolf,” Finn answered sheepishly.

“You know Elvish?” she asked, puzzled.

“Not a lot of it. Ariane’s taught me what she could, but it’s an astoundingly complex language.”

“Any idea what she said about this Dread Wolf, then?”

“Not precisely, no, but suffice it to say it wasn’t pleasant.”

Safir looked back in the direction Ariane had stormed off and bit her cheek. Clearly her tactic of pissing her off all at once was not working.

“Fuck,” she sighed. “I should probably go talk to her.”

“While she’s armed with ranged weaponry?” Finn cautioned, raising his eyebrows with exaggerated worry. “Your funeral.”

Safir finished the last bit of rabbit in her hand before wiping her fingers off on her trousers and standing up. She tried to remember precisely where Ariane had gone and then looked once more at Finn.

“If I don’t come back, tell Ariane I’m very disappointed in her.”

Walking into the woods, Safir hoped it wouldn’t be long before she found Ariane. Years of self-taught hunting sharpened her skills some, but she was no tracker. She followed what footsteps she could but quickly found herself on her own, wandering blindly among the trees and periodically calling out Ariane’s name.

“Look, if you’re hiding from me and I’m not just bad at tracking people, I’m sorry, alright?” 

Yelling out into the woods did little to yield results, and so she kept walking, until finally she came across a few droplets of blood staining the leaves on the ground. Looking around, she saw that the drops were strung along, forming a trail. Picking a direction at random, she followed it until she finally caught up with Ariane, who had another rabbit slung over her shoulder.

“You’re not easy to find, you know that?” she panted, jogging to catch her up.

“I was my clan’s best hunter before I left, Safir,” she answered. “Of course I’m not easy to find. What do you want?”

“A fancy dress, and shoes to go with it,” she joked in response. “What do you think I want?”

“Creators, Safir, can you not turn it off for even one minute?” Ariane snapped, turning around with fire in her eyes. “Are you really so incapable of being serious?”

Safir clenched her jaw and averted her eyes, hoping her silence would indicate acceptance of the criticism. It was a fair point, after all.

“I know I can be an asshole, Ariane. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I thought getting you to yell at me would get us past this whole thing faster. You’d get everything off your chest and we’d be able to move on and forget about it,” she explained, scratching the back of her head. “And shit, it’s easier than explaining things.”

Ariane’s features softened until the anger on her face was present only in traces. Letting her arm hang freely, and the rabbit with it, she simply shrugged her shoulders.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Safir asked, shifting uncomfortably.

“Explain what things?” she asked in turn, her question doubling as an answer. “Why did you leave?”

“I went to the Brecilian Forest for a few years,” Safir began, though Ariane’s dissatisfaction was quickly made known.

“That’s not what I asked you. Finn already told me everything you told him. _Why_ did you leave?”

Safir rubbed her hand over her mouth, massaging her jaw as she took a few hesitant steps away from Ariane. She looked around at the forest surrounding them, eyes flitting from branch to branch while images of the Blight filled the spaces between.

“It’s a long story, and it’s Warden business, but the short of it is someone I love died, and it was my fault.” Safir turned back around to see if the answer was enough to placate Ariane, but no reply came from the other elf. She clearly wanted more. “I wanted to find Morrigan because… Honestly, I don’t know what I wanted to get out of that. But she was a sister to me once, and I needed her back. I still do. So when she stepped through that mirror, and I couldn’t follow…”

Safir trailed off and closed her watering eyes, hoping to skip over the memories of her years in isolation. 

“You were all alone,” Ariane finished. “That’s how you felt, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much. No one left who cared about me, right? So I left.”

“You went to the forest.”

“Mhm. And I sat in that fucking tree house for years waiting to die,” Safir confessed, her hands rolling into tense fists. “I’d still be there if my pa hadn’t come for me. And who knows? Maybe I’d even be dead by now.”

Ariane stepped forward to rest a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Safir. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you, did I?” she assured, reminding her that she’d been angry just a few moments ago. “It’s not like you could have known.”

“That’s true, but I still feel bad,” Ariane admitted. She looked ready to offer a hug that, thankfully, didn’t come. “I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you so much.”

“Actually, that _was_ pretty funny. Don’t feel bad about that.”

Ariane’s expression soured a touch, puckered lips accompanied by a resentful sigh. 

“I’m _so glad_ you had such fun watching me explode, then,” she said, finally withdrawing her hand. “So, Finn tells me you’re looking for Morrigan again? What for?”

“Finally, a simple question!” Safir gratefully said, relieved that the tough talk was over. “I don’t want to be a Warden anymore, and I need her help with that.”

“What does she know about Wardens that you don’t?”

“Not sure. But she pointed me in the direction of a cure when we found her in the Wastes, and—”

“A cure?” Ariane asked, interrupting. “A cure for what?”

“The darkspawn taint,” Safir answered, forgetting how closely guarded the order’s secrets were. “Wardens drink their blood when they join. It’s what gives us our abilities.”

“Their blood? Isn’t it deadly?”

Safir nodded. “Most recruits don’t make it.”

“That’s awful!” Ariane gasped

“If you ask me, they’re the lucky ones,” she admitted. “The ones who do make it have to be Wardens. Still, it’s necessary.”

“But you want to cure yourself of the taint?”

“The Blight’s over. I did my part. Now that I know it’s possible to get out, that’s exactly what I’m doing. The problem is, the lead Morrigan gave me is ancient and confusing, so I need her help if I’m ever going to get the cure.”

“Why is the cure so important, though?” Ariane asked. “Couldn’t you just quit? _Didn’t_ you?”

“Surviving the Joining isn’t the same as surviving the taint. It still gets us eventually.”

“What do you mean?”

“The taint still affects us like it does anyone else. It just takes longer. Eventually we start hearing the same song the darkspawn do. Most of the Wardens who don’t die in battle before that go to the deep roads and try to take as many of the darkspawn down as they can before they get killed. It’s not exactly a happy future.”

“ _Andruil ma suledin las_. I can see why you want out, now,” Ariane said, shuddering as she spoke. “What happens to the ones who don’t go to the deep roads?”

“They become ghouls,” Safir explained quickly. “I’d sooner pitch myself into the Dead Trenches than let that happen to me.”

“Hence, you seek the cure…”

“Hence, I seek the cure,” she confirmed. “Speaking of which, can we go back to camp now and talk to Finn about how we’re going to find Morrigan again?”

“Right, yes, I suppose we should,” Ariane answered, visibly shaken after hearing the Warden secrets. “I shouldn’t have just run off. It’ll be good to think of less disturbing things.”

“If you knew Morrigan, you wouldn’t be saying that,” Safir laughed. “Come on.”

Together, the elves made their way back to the clearing with the campsite, where Finn was likely beginning to break down in fear of the forest. Ariane’s better sense of direction meant she was leading the way. Soon enough, after a much shorter walk than Safir was expecting, they arrived to find the mage cleaning between his toes with a rag and a canteen. 

“Welcome back, ladies,” he said, not looking away from his task. “Are we all friends again?”

Safir looked in Ariane’s direction, waiting to hear the response. After all, she was the one who’d been upset before. Ariane met Safir’s glance before walking towards her rucksack to withdraw a short knife.

“As friendly as we can be, I guess,” was her answer. “We should talk about finding Morrigan.”

“Yes! We should! It’s about time!” Finn clamored, putting away the rag and dressing his feet with a fresh pair of socks. “I thought it would be best to start by listing everything we know about where she might be.”

“That’s a very short list,” Safir advised.

“Maybe so, but it always helps to make lists!”

“Alright,” she said, sticking her thumb in the air. “One. She went through an eluvian in the Dragonbone Wastes several years ago.”

She took the next moment to stare at Finn, waiting for him to realize that the list was already complete.

“Oh! You’re done. That is a very short list, indeed… Ariane, any ideas?”

Sitting on a log to his left, Ariane busied herself with skinning the rabbit she’d killed earlier. Without looking up, she answered, “The eluvian should be enough on its own, shouldn’t it? All we’d have to do is reactivate it. Walk through it and look for clues on the other side.”

“We don’t even know where the eluvian leads,” Finn protested. “For all we know, it could deposit us straight into the mouth of an active volcano!”

“What reason could Morrigan have had to jump into a volcano?” Safir asked impatiently.

“I don’t know! She’s _your_ friend!”

Safir groaned, palming her forehead and sweeping back loose hairs.

“All we know for certain is that Morrigan went through that eluvian,” Ariane explained. “Why bother looking anywhere else? Flip whatever switch turns it on, and whatever we find should give us more to work with than we have now.”

“She’s got a point, Finn,” Safir agreed. “The only problem is none of us knows how to activate an eluvian. You said yourself the scrying ritual only worked because Morrigan’s was already functioning. That other mirror we found didn’t react at all to your magic, did it?”

“No, it didn’t. The one in the Wastes seemed to reach out to me, though. Almost like it was trying to tell me something. I suppose, in a way, it did,” Finn concluded, scratching his chin. Then, perking up, he gasped that he had an idea. “Maybe that’s the key! We go to the eluvian, I perform the ritual again, and maybe it’ll tell me where it leads!”

“You realize how insane you sound, right?” Ariane asked him, laughing to herself. “Even crazier than usual.”

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it? It told me where it was before, maybe if I try again it’ll tell me where it goes!”

“And maybe it’ll tell you to shave that ghastly thing you call a beard, too!” she quipped.

Finn defensively stroked the admittedly sparse collection of hair on his chin, looking at Ariane as though she’d committed a great offense. “I don’t suppose you have any better ideas?”

“No, but at least I’m not suggesting we speak to glass.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, since you’re not a mage, but—”

“Oh, not again with this ‘you’re not a mage’ crap,” Ariane complained.

“Well, it’s true! You’re not!”

“Forget about that, Finn,” Safir told him. “What were you saying?”

“As I said, neither of you are mages, so you couldn’t have felt what I did when we performed the scrying ritual.”

“So?” she asked, wanting more of an explanation.

“ _So_ ,” Finn began, “you’ll have to take my word for it when I tell you that that eluvian was communicating with me. Maybe not directly, and maybe not even literally, but when I was doing the scrying, it was like I understood it, somehow. It’s difficult to explain if you’re not a… well, it’s difficult to explain, anyhow.”

“So you think that if we go back to the eluvian, you can try to figure out more from it?”

“That’s right. It worked with a broken eluvian from miles away, didn’t it? Who knows what I could learn standing right next to it?”

“The scrying still only worked because the other eluvian was functional at the time,” Ariane reminded him. “Will it work face to face even if it’s not functioning now?”

Finn rubbed his chin pensively, considering the question for some time before answering. “I can’t say. Might do. Might not. It would help if we had your book again. Could we find your clan?”

“Er, I doubt they would let me borrow it,” Ariane replied, scratching her head. “Not after I ran off with one of the _shemlen_.”

“What about the books at Kinloch Hold?” Safir suggested, remembering that the three of them had first learned of eluvians there.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not rushing to go back to the circle, Safir. I’m an apostate now, remember?”

“Maybe Safir and I could go on our own?” Ariane asked.

“They’d know I was with you and come looking, I’m sure of it. Your clan is a safer bet.”

“Then we’ll have to find them,” Safir agreed, locking her fingers together and looking at Ariane.

“I don’t even know if I would be welcomed back!” she argued, though her tone suggested that she knew they had little choice. “And even if I would be, I don’t know where they are. It’s been years since I last saw them, and the Dalish move around so much.”

“So, what, are we stuck?” Safir asked, frustrated. “Already?”

“No,” Finn said, raising an open palm in her direction to calm her down. “Not stuck, just… challenged. We don’t even need information on eluvians, necessarily. Not if I can figure out where the one in the Wastes leads. It might take longer, but we could simply walk to its destination instead of going through it.”

“And if the distance is too great?” Ariane asked him, wary of the kind of journey they might be in for if they embarked on foot.

“I doubt it could take longer than wandering about and hoping we run into your clan.”

“That’s a fair point,” she admitted.

“So is it decided?” Safir asked them both, standing up and placing her hands on her hips. “No plan, no research, just race blindly to the eluvian and hope something works out? That sounds pretty stupid.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Finn muttered.

The three of them remained in near-perfect silence for a time until Finn seemed to have another flash of realization. 

“Denerim!” he shouted, jumping up from his log. “Denerim has a library! A lot of the circle’s books came from scholars based there. I’m sure we could find something in the library about eluvians! They must have a section on ancient elven artifacts.”

“That sounds promising,” Arianne agreed, though unlike Finn and Safir she remained firmly sat upon her log, having skinned the rabbit and begun removing its innards. “We’ll go to this library, then, Finn.”

“Riiiight,” he answered, his eyes narrowing. “There’s the rub. It’s a Chantry library, of course, and that means—”

“Templars,” Safir finished. “Fine, Ariane and I will go alone. You can stay at my pa’s place in the alienage. Templars never go there unless there’s a purge.”

“Oh, well, that’s convenient,” Finn said cheerily. “So we go to Denerim, do research in the library, and head to the Wastes from there. Seems a solid plan to me. All in favor?”

Safir raised an eyebrow at Finn’s unexpected insistence upon voting. Ariane simply shook her head, still focusing on the rabbit.

“I think everyone’s on board,” Safir finally answered, heading to her tent to begin packing it up. “We should start getting ready to leave.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, walking toward his own tent to do the same. “If we leave within the hour we should be able to get most of the way through the Brecilian Passage before nightfall.”

Safir stopped in her tracks when she remembered what leaving meant. Apparently, her apprehension was visible to Finn, who quickly offered an alternative. 

“Or, if you’d prefer, we could go to Gwaren proper, and hire a ship to take us to Denerim?”

“Can we afford that?” Safir asked. She’d already spent most of her money while chasing Finn across Ferelden. “All I have is a few sovereigns.”

“Finn and I have a lot saved up,” Ariane said, rejoining the conversation. “Shouldn’t take much to get us there anyway.”

“Alright,” Safir said, accepting the offer. “Gwaren it is.”


	6. A Trip to the Restricted Section

“Can you smell that?” Finn asked, tapping a bony finger to his nose looking up at the ceiling with an excited grin. “Fish, lamp oil, and just a hint of rot? A stench like that has to be from a city. We must be arriving!”

Without another word, the mage rose from the table and squeezed across the lower deck, making his way to the stairs through a sea of other passengers.

“He’s certainly… excitable, isn’t he?” Safir asked the other elf, who remained seated across from her next to the empty space previously occupied by Finn. Ariane simply shrugged her indifference at being left alone.

“I think he’s just glad the journey’s over. He hasn’t said anything, but I suspect he’s afraid of sailing,” she wondered aloud. 

“I can’t imagine why,” Safir said, sighing and scratching her head. “Days out at sea with nothing but a few planks of wood standing between you and drowning. What’s not to like, right?”

“It’s not like we’ve gone that far from shore, even if the ship did sink,” Ariane argued, not sharing her companions’ naval discomfort. “It would be an hour or so of swimming before we reached dry land.”

“That’s an hour longer than I’m able to swim, though.”

“You can’t swim?” Ariane asked, looking wild in the gloomy light with eyes wide and brows arched. “Why would you board a ship if you can’t swim?!”

“They’re supposed to be safe, aren’t they?”

“Sure, but it’s like you said: only a few planks between you and drowning!”

“Are you trying to freak me out, Ariane?” Safir admonished, shaking her head and trying to calm the nerves Ariane had disturbed.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… Listen, I’ll teach you to swim once we’re traveling on land again,” she offered, resting a hand on Safir’s arm.

“No way,” Safir refused, sweeping her free hand outward with an open palm. “Not interested.”

“It’s a lot of fun, promise. I used to swim all the time with my clan mates when I was a girl.”

“Forget it. Ask me again when we’re not on a ship.”

“I will,” Ariane agreed, folding her hands and looking rather assured in her victory. Sickening, really.

“Come on,” Safir sighed, standing from the table and beckoning Ariane to follow. “Better make sure Finn doesn’t kill everyone on the top deck before we make port. I’m starving, and I’d rather not have to wait for the guards to arrest him before getting something hot to eat.”

Winding around the lower deck’s obstacles, which took the form of passengers of many shapes, sizes, and smells, Safir reached the staircase at the other end no worse for the wear and only slightly less appetized. Checking behind herself to make sure Ariane had followed, she continued upward and squinted into the dawn, covering the sun with an arm to better search for Finn. She found him at the front of the ship, practically hanging off the bowsprit in his excitement to reach Denerim at last.

“Don’t lean so far forward,” Ariane cautioned as she passed Safir and pulled at the leather on Finn’s back. “It would be a shame for you to get left behind when we’re so close to the city.”

“I reckon I could swim from here,” he answered, not deigning to turn around and face his friend. His rapturous captivation with the docks that lay ahead proved too enthralling to interrupt with such bothersome trivialities as manners. 

As it happened, however, he was probably right. The city’s buildings, set ablaze by the rising sun, were close enough to tell apart from one another. Closing the distance quickly, the ship carried them into the din of a busy morning, adding sound to the growing list of confirmations that they were finally in Denerim. Safir scanned the orange skyline and counted the plumes of chimney smoke to hasten the passage of time. Her eyes landed on the air that hung above the alienage, marked as it was by fewer towers and the pathetically thin trails of smoke that betrayed its ever-present poverty. Then, involuntarily, they shifted in focus and found the very top of Fort Drakon looming over the city. The orange light that bathed the tower was far too close to red.

“Home, sweet home,” she sighed, looking away from the city to focus on how best to tend to her growling stomach. “You guys hungry?”

“I could eat,” Ariane shrugged, though her enthusiasm was rather middling.

“I’m always hungry,” Finn answered after a beat, still engrossed in the sight of the rapidly approaching docks. “Why? Did you want to make a stop for food? I was hoping we’d go straight to your father’s. Couldn’t we eat there?”

“You don’t want alienage food, Finn,” Safir said, advising caution. “Trust me. Besides, you don’t have a sign on your back telling the Templars to come running. You’ll be fine in the city as long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves.”

“Ah, yes,” he agreed sarcastically, finally turning around with a nonchalant wave. “A mage, a Dalish, and an alienage street rat. We’re sure to go unnoticed.”

“He’s got a point, Safir,” Ariane admitted. “Perhaps it would be best to go to the alienage after all. Maybe we can bring Finn some food later?”

“But I’m hungry now,” Safir answered, crossing her arms and pouting.

“We’ll be quick! But you’re the only one of us who knows the way.”

“Fine,” Safir scoffed, upset but compliant. “But hurry up. As soon as this boat docks, we’re heading straight to the alienage.”

Neither Finn nor Ariane argued, instead preferring to wait in silence until the ship finally entered the harbor and reached its dock. The three of them then walked as briskly as safety would allow down the gangplank that connected the top deck to Ferelden. The last of the trio to disembark, Safir looked down into the water as she crossed, its bottom obscured by murk and glare. After a week on the waves, their clumsy lashing of the dock walls was a much loved farewell song. Unfortunately, it doubled as the percussive fanfare that announced their arrival squarely in the heart of the docks district. The sea air smelled strongly, but it couldn’t hope to match the potency of the harbor’s foul air. The dockside stunk of fish and shit, to say nothing of the men who worked it. Willing her sea legs to return to normal, she grabbed her companions by the arms and hauled them behind her as she sped through the district on the quickest route to the elven alienage. Admittedly, it didn’t smell much better there either, but at least it smelled like home.

Finn was the first to complain about the pace, but arrived at the alienage slightly breathless despite his protest. Safir’s stomach growled angrily at being kept waiting, and even the whingeing of a thousand ginger mages would not have slowed her down. Ariane, on the other hand, had kept pace well enough, only hesitating when the elven slum actually came into view.

“I’d heard all about the alienages,” she began, awkwardly scratching her arm. “But actually seeing one with my own eyes is heartbreaking. You really grew up here?”

“Home, shit home,” Safir answered with a matter-of-fact shrug. “It’s not as bad as you think, once you get over the widespread hunger and the constant threat of a human raid.”

“I can’t believe nothing’s been done about it,” Ariane lamented. “It’s tragic.”

“Queen Anora promised me she would make things better for the elves here. Lying bitch.”

“Have you thought of enforcing that promise before?” Finn asked, glancing around nervously at his surroundings. “I had no idea things were this rubbish here, and now that I have to sleep in said rubbish, I’m insulted. Why don’t you pay this Queen Anora a visit?”

“That wouldn’t do anyone any good,” Safir answered, shaking her head. “I’d probably just end up killing her.”

“No, I suppose an alienage elf becoming a regicide wouldn’t prove all that advantageous for the other alienage elves. Well, at least I know you’ve considered it,” Finn agreed, though his tone betrayed a sense of disappointment. Safir wondered if he was sorry for having to live in foul conditions or for not getting to take part in a political assassination. These days, there was no telling with him.

Leading the way through the muck, Safir walked briskly through the familiar alleyways she’d called home for twenty years, her eyes sweeping side to side to look at its current residents. She recognized several of them, but greetings were not in order with a stomach so empty. 

“We’re almost at my pa’s house, just up these stairs,” she said, pointing to the staircase a few yards ahead to ease her friend’s worries. 

“Oh, goodie!” Finn yelped, a pair of claps accompanying his voice. “It’s raised up off the ground! What a relief.”

“Keep complaining and I’ll make sure you sleep outside,” she joked. Reaching the top landing, she gave the door a few soft knocks before pushing it open and glancing inside.

“Little Owl! You’re back!” her father cried, standing as quickly as he could from the table. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

Safir closed the distance herself, taking pity on the man’s old knees and hugging him tightly. His age was beginning to catch up to him. Pretty soon, he might have to use a cane just to walk.

“And you brought friends!” Cyrion gasped, spying Finn and Ariane over her shoulder. “Cyrion Tabris. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I missed you, too, Pa,” Safir said, breaking from the hug to properly introduce them. “This is Ariane, the Dalish who helped me find Morrigan years ago. And that is Florian Phinny Something. He also helped.”

“Finn, if you please,” the mage corrected after clearing his throat. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s all mine,” her father insisted, beckoning everyone to make themselves comfortable. “Please, please, come on in!”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Ariane said with a slight bow before entering.

“Say nothing of it! Any friend of Safir’s is welcome here,” he replied, looking through the pantry for anything to offer his guests. “So, what brings you all here? You were gone a long while, Little Owl.”

“Well, I had to walk around all of Ferelden looking for this asshole,” Safir explained, pointing her thumb at Finn. “We took ship from Gwaren to get here.”

“Took ship? That was brave of you!”

“Didn’t have much choice. It was the fastest way here,” she answered. “Forgive us, Pa, but this isn’t a social visit. We came back to Denerim to use the library.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, looking rather downtrodden. “Oh. Alright. So, what can I do to help?”

“I promise, as soon as I’m done with this, I’ll come straight back home.” Noticing her father’s expectant glance and tapping foot, she continued, twiddling her thumbs and avoiding eye contact. “And, since you were kind enough to ask, I was hoping Finn could stay here while Ariane and I do some research. He can’t go into the library. He’s an apostate.”

“I see,” Cyrion came back, his voice stern and his brows flat with disappointment. Maker, how that look made her sweat, even after thirty years. “And you’ve decided to bring an apostate into my home, making me a criminal.”

“Templars never come to the alienage and you know that, Pa.”

“Fine, very well!” he finally agreed, waving the concern. “Finn can stay. But I’ll hold you to that promise, Safir Tabris. Come back, as soon as this boondoggle is over with. I found you once, and I can do it again.”

“Thanks, Pa. We’ll be quick.”

“Not too quick, Little Owl. I haven’t seen you in almost two months!”

“We’ll stay until we have the information we need,” Safir assured him, turning back toward the door. “In the meantime, I’m starving and Finn’s company isn’t entirely terrible.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Finn complained, though he didn’t seem to disagree with the assessment.

“We’ll bring them back something to eat, won’t we, Safir?” Ariane asked, letting guilt or pity show in the way she looked at Cyrion. Perhaps both.

“Of course, but first things first, right?” With that, Safir opened the door and stepped outside it, giving the room one last cursory glance. “See you later, Pa!”

A ravenous breakfast and one delivery later, it was finally time for the women to go to the library on the other end of Denerim. The sun now hung high above the city rather than over the horizon. If not for Ferelden’s temperate climate, walking such a distance under the full brunt of daylight would have been exhausting, sweaty, and uncomfortable. As it happened, Safir and Ariane’s walk was destined to simply be a boring one.

“How much further is it to this library?” Ariane asked, squinting in the brightness.

“Not too far. It’s across from the big chantry up ahead.”

“And are you sure they’ll let a pair of elves in?”

“I’m the Hero of Ferelden,” Safir sighed. “They’ll let me in if they know what’s good for them.”

Minutes later, the pair arrived at the entrance to the library, where it was finally time to see if whoever guarded it actually did know what was good for them. An imposing edifice of glass and stone, its facade towered above them. The elaborate masonry, framed dramatically by the light of noon, rose high above the cobbled street, where it ended in a sharp point above a simple rose window. A single heavy wooden door was set into the facade at the top of a short flight of stairs, at the base of which two city guards stood vigilant. Walking past them was simple enough; libraries and chantries were treated similarly in Denerim, which meant open access for all. Any elves entering the library alone were assumed to be there on errand for some noble or other.

Upon walking through the arched doorway, however, it soon became clear that this library employed a very loose definition of the phrase, “open access.” Before so much as being able to look at a shelf of books, they would have to be cleared by a mousy old woman covered head-to-toe in Chantry linens and superiority. They could only assume that this was the head librarian. She sat on the other side of a fat wooden counter that wrapped around the whole of the library’s entrance to ensure that no one got in who she didn’t want to. The entrance of a pair of well-armed elves elicited no response. Unimpressed, Safir strode forward and draped her elbows over the chest-high counter, saying nothing until the librarian made the first move.

“State your business,” she sighed, turning a page and not looking up from her book. 

“Research,” Safir answered curtly, rolling her eyes. “What else?”

“My, aren’t you impatient today? Why don’t you—” she trailed off, finally looking up from the book as a result of Safir’s rudeness. Her eyes immediately landed on pointed ears. “Why don’t you watch your tongue, girl? What business have you here?”

“I’m a Grey Warden.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , I’m the reason this building is even still standing, and my business is _my_ business.”

“That is quite the claim!” the librarian haughtily exclaimed, leaning back with crossed arms and raised brows. “Where did you come by such arrogance?”

“Fifth Blight. Ten years ago. Helped slay an archdemon,” Safir explained, savoring the look of realization that crashed upon the librarian’s wrinkled features. “Or don’t I match the description?”

“ _You’re_ the Hero of Ferelden?” she gasped, letting her mouth hang agape as she made to unhook the rope that barred them access to the rest of the library. “For… forgive my impetuousness, Ser. Please, go right along. I will be here to assist, should you find yourself in need of help.”

Safir gave the woman a satisfied smirk as she passed through the entrance, Ariane in tow. “Books about magic. The older the better. Where would I find them?”

“To the left, Ser. The last two aisles are all about the arcane,” she said with a bow.

Following the instructions, Safir started her smug walk across the library, running her fingers along the dusty wooden boards that held row after row of bookshelves up. 

“That was impressive,” Ariane complimented, glancing back toward the entryway every few steps to catch another glimpse of the dumbfounded old bat. 

“Saving the world has its perks,” Safir boasted. “I told you they would let us in. Now for the real challenge. How are we going to make sense of all these books?”

“We don’t have to,” the other woman answered quickly, “we just have to find the ones that relate to ancient elvhen and look through them. One of them should have something about eluvians.”

“As you say.”

Together, they reached the final two aisles of shelves. Four rows of books in total. This close to the windows, sunlight streamed in at angles, catching the dust in the air and imbuing the place with an aura of calm that almost made the search relaxing. Safir and Ariane quickly decided to split up, each of them taking responsibility for an aisle. Such an aimless search was taxing. The better part of an hour passed before either of them had much more to report than sore feet or an itchy nose. 

“Have you found anything yet?” Safir asked through the wall of parchment that separated her from the other elf.

“Nothing important, no,” came the reply from somewhere out of sight to her left. “I found a study on Fade portals by... Imelda Gregoria Trevelyan.”

“Imelda Gregoria?” Safir shook her head with pity. “She could give Finn a run for his money.”

“Creators, I know! But I think her work is about spatial rifts within the Fade itself rather than anything useful.”

“Alright. Let me know if you find anything good.”

“Yes, Safir,” Ariane began with a sigh. “For the tenth time, I will tell you if I find something good.”

Safir continued searching her own aisle, though if she was being honest with herself, the work did not suit her. Her mind was quicker than most, and her wit even quicker, but scanning through one book title after another in the faint hope of finding something even slightly relevant was dull, dreary, and dreadfully slow. Walking left across the aisle, she was close to finishing her third row of books, perusing through such intriguing works of arcane scholarship as _Magical Denotation: a Comprehensive Guide to the International Vocabulary of Mages_ and _Summary of the Ancient Magicks of Ferelden_.

“Safir?” Ariane’s voice piped up, just in time to save her from falling asleep where she stood. “You’re going to want to see this.”

“What is it?” Safir asked, rounding the corner to find Ariane sitting cross-legged with a dense book open in her lap. Taking a seat across from her, she waited as Ariane finished reading a paragraph. A moment later, she turned the book around and thrust it into Safir’s hands.

Stiff, musty, and frayed at the edges, the yellowed pages had every indication of being incredibly old. Safir studied the page Ariane had given her, but before she could read much a slender finger pointed down to an illustration on the right side of the book. At first glance it looked like a simple and crude drawing of an archway, but upon closer inspection...

“Look at that. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s an eluvian. This author is writing about a strange network employed by the ancient elvhen, but I can’t understand much. It’s all foreign to me, but so were eluvians before we found out about them, right?”

“So you think this book—”

“Is about eluvians,” Ariane confirmed. “He doesn’t use the word, but it could simply be that he didn’t know it. From what I read a few pages earlier, though, he was researching magics unique to the elvhen.”

“Did he write anything about how to activate the network?” Safir asked, attempting to quell the rising flutters of anticipation in her stomach.

“I didn’t get that far. But if we’re going to find it anywhere, I think it’s in this book.”

“This is perfect, Ariane!” Safir yelped, giving her a light punch on the arm. “Who do I have to thank for this information?”

“You mean aside from the one who found it?” Ariane asked with mock indignation, rubbing the spot Safir had hit. “The original author was a Tevinter scholar named Halward Carterius. I’m not sure who made this translation.”

“Well, I think we should see what else this scholar Carterius has to say on the subject, don’t you?”

“We absolutely should,” the other woman agreed. Her enthusiasm seemed lacking, however, and she simply pursed her lips. “There’s a problem with that, though.” 

“Oh, no,” Safir groaned, pushing the book back into Ariane’s lap. “What is it?”

“The translation is only partial. Much of the book is still written in Tevene—including the part we need.”

“So we know he’s talking about eluvians, but we don’t know what he’s saying?”

“Exactly,” Ariane confirmed. “So we’ll need Finn to take a look at it.”

“Well, that’s not so bad then!” Rising up to leave, Safir added, “I’ll go get him. It can’t be too hard to convince him to come over here.”

“You haven’t lived with him. We would sooner learn Tevene ourselves than get him to come here. One way or another, we’ll have to take the book with us.”

“This doesn’t seem like the type of place that would let us borrow ancient manuscripts,” Safir complained, pacing slowly up and down the aisle.

“Can’t you just… I don’t know, conscript the book with your Warden powers?” Ariane asked.

Safir shook her head no. “That really only works during a Blight. We’re going to have to steal it somehow.”

Coming up with a plan was simple enough for a place with such light security. Clearly, the Chantry expected better than thievery of its scholars. After a few rehearsals, Safir took her position, book in hand, hiding in one of the aisles closest to the door. All that was left was to wait for Ariane to play her part, and this would be over soon.

The Dalish elf mimed a surprisingly convincing limp and approached the foyer breathless and sweaty.

“Mistress, please! Get the guards!” she shouted, nearly doubled over while clutching a knee. “There’s been a break-in! My friend is hurt!”

The librarian took the bait at once, rushing outside to fetch the guardsmen standing watch over the entrance and coming back in a storm. 

“Blasted Wardens, bringing trouble everywhere they go!” she muttered as she followed the guards away in the direction Ariane had pointed. Once they were past Safir’s hiding place, she and Ariane simply walked out the door and onto the busy Denerim streets, where no one was any the wiser.

“Well,” Safir began, “that was easy.”


	7. A Very Thedas TED Talk

Safir and Ariane entered Cyrion’s house in the alienage to find him rubbing his temples at the table and trying desperately to endure a conversation with Finn. The mage, either oblivious or indifferent to his obvious lack of enthusiasm, was taking full advantage of the captivity of his audience and seemed to be in the middle of regaling him with some tale or other from life on the road.

“And so there I was,” Finn dramatically spoke, holding out his hands to illustrate the scenario, “surrounded by three very nasty looking wolves! I cast a paralysis spell on them to buy some time and then shouted at the kennel master, belittling his manhood and reminding him that it would take more than a few mangy mutts to kill me!”

“And then?” Cyrion sighed, shooting Safir a resentful glance that could rival even her own.

“Well, I don’t want to go into much detail in the presence of ladies,” the mage answered slyly at a much lower volume. “But suffice it to say I certainly _belittled his manhood_ a second time, if you catch my meaning. Poor lad.”

“I’m impressed, Finn,” Cyrion said, standing from the table and not even bothering to look at his guest. Then, speaking to Safir, he added, “I assume, now, that you have some news to distract your pet with?”

“Yes, actually,” she replied, stepping forward and dropping the heavy tome onto the table in front of Finn. “Courtesy of Ariane, who managed to find it.”

“Oh!” Finn yelped giddily, immediately opening the book and poring through its yellowed pages. “What fun!”

“Be careful, Finn!” Ariane cautioned, stepping over to slow his progress. “The binding is fragile!”

“Wait a minute,” Cyrion groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This book came from the library, didn’t it?”

“And?” Safir asked, playing dumb.

“And that means you’ve stolen it. And, like your apostate friend here, you’ve brought it into my home.”

“Not stolen!” she argued. “Borrowed. I have every intention of taking it back to the library.”

“As soon as you’re done researching?” her father asked, though the question bore the cadence of an order.

“As soon as I’m done researching.” Safir scratched her head in thought. “Or, until I’m absolutely sure I don’t need it anymore. Whichever comes first.”

“Safir,” he sighed, “do you think being the Hero of Ferelden gives you the right to do as you please without regard for the consequences?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Oh, Maker…” he said, shaking his head and leaving the room. “I should have known better than to try to maintain any semblance of control over you, Little Owl. Do as you will, but try to remember that this is still an alienage, and your father is still an elf.”

“Hey, my being the Hero of Ferelden isn’t only good for me, you know. You’re my father,” Safir said, catching him up and grabbing his arm. “Anyone fucks with you, they’ll have to answer to me. They know that.”

“Oh, darling, I appreciate the sentiment, and I know you mean well,” he answered, giving her a warm smile and petting her head. “But that is a hard promise to keep when you disappear for years at a time. And you could make good on it, if only you stayed home. Please, my daughter, won’t you stay?”

Safir clenched her jaw as she withdrew from Cyrion to stare at the dirty gray wall, arms crossed.

“This again? We’ve had this conversation before, Pa. You know why I have to do this.”

“Oh… oh, I know, Little Owl,” he muttered, walking into his room and sitting on the bed. Safir followed. “It’s just that I missed you for so long, and it feels like you left just as soon as I’d brought you back. With Soris and Shianni off in Highever, I’ve been on my own here. And, well…”

“What is it?” Safir asked, taking a seat next to him.

“Safir, I don’t know how much time I have left.”

“Don’t do that. That isn’t fair.”

“It’s the truth, honey,” Cyrion shrugged. “The truth doesn’t care about what’s fair. And I’m old.”

“Stop it, Pa. Please.”

“I don’t think I’ll be around much longer, Little Owl,” he continued, resting a hand on her knee. “And whatever time I have left, I’d hoped to spend it in the company of my daughter.”

Safir leaned forward, resting her forehead on her palm. “Please don’t make me feel guiltier than I already do. I’ve had more than enough guilt to last me a lifetime.”

“I’m sorry, Safir. I know I’m not being fair to you. I just worry that—”

“Curing the taint isn’t something I’m doing for fun, Pa,” Safir interrupted him. “And I didn’t ask for the process of curing it to be so fucking complicated.”

“I didn’t say you—”

“But I need this, Pa. I _need_ it.” Safir breathed deeply before continuing, standing from the bed and leaning on her forearm against the wall. “And like you, I have no idea how much longer the taint will spare me. Hell, I can already hear the song if I look for it! That _scares_ me. It makes me _angry_. So I’m going to fix it. I’ve already wasted too much of my life being a Warden and feeling sorry for myself, and I’m not going to waste any more of it now by staying here and—”

Safir cut herself off and bowed her head.

“Oh, fuck… I’m sorry, Pa,” she said. “I didn’t mean….”

“Shhh, Little Owl,” Cyrion whispered, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her. “I know, honey, I know.”

Safir returned the hug, burrowing into his shoulder.

“It’s selfish of me to want to keep you here when so much is troubling you. The cure is more important than the selfish desires of a sentimental old man,” he told her, rubbing her back up and down. “If getting rid of that Warden taint will make you happier, then the best thing you can do for me is to go out and get rid of it.”

“Why are you so nice, Pa?” she asked, her voice muffled by the embrace. “You’re just making it harder to leave.”

Cyrion laughed and stepped back from her. “Go on, Safir. Do your research. I could use some rest, anyway, after enduring that Finn’s stories for so long.”

“I’m sorry about that. I know he’s a handful,” Safir said. Before she took a step out, she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you company?”

“Quite sure, Little Owl,” he assured her with a small grin. “You’ve already saved the world twice. It’s about time you save yourself.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Safir smiled, resting her hand on his shoulder for a moment before leaving to rejoin Finn and Ariane in the main room. 

She found Finn standing over the lengthy book just as before, but in a much calmer state. He bit his lower lip under furrowed brows while concentrating on the text, every now and then muttering to himself or scratching down some notes onto a leaf of spare parchment. He looked every inch of him the scholar he once was, before he was warped by freedom from the Circle. Safir turned her attention to Ariane in the back of the room, who was also biting her lip, albeit with a very different motivation. She wiped her expression clean the moment she realized Safir was watching.

“Have a seat, Safir,” she called, gesturing to the chair next to hers. “Finn is busy translating.”

Doing as instructed, Safir sauntered over to the chair without once taking her eyes off of the other elf. She let the slightest hint of a smirk play across her lips as she sat. 

“Don’t you just love a man who can translate?” she asked. Ariane’s face flushed nearly as red as her hair.

“Quiet,” she ordered. “Finn needs to concentrate.”

“Right,” Safir drawled, considering the obvious strength of the mage’s focus; he hadn’t even noticed that she’d entered the room. “His concentration seems very fragile.”

Ariane scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Just be quiet, will you?”

“If you insist,” she replied, crossing her feet and reclining with her hands on the back of her head.

Content with the knowledge that she’d caught Ariane staring lustfully at Finn, Safir let her be and simply joined her in waiting for him to finish his work. And what lengthy work it was. After several minutes of fighting just to keep her eyes open, she finally succumbed to sleep. Maker only knows how much time passed before she finally awoke to find Finn ruffling through his notes and speaking to himself much more loudly than before.

“ _Vescere bracis meis… speculanare adveo… aranea telam… artis navita clavis est_ ,” Finn muttered, studying the dated Tevene with some difficulty. “Well, this certainly clears things up!” he suddenly shouted, stirring Safir further out of her sleep.

“What is it?” Ariane asked him, rushing over and laying a hand on his arm. Too focused on the academics, Finn quickly squirmed away to circle around to the other side of the table before beckoning Safir forward.

Safir, ever the comedian, strode to the table and planted herself next to Ariane, laying a hand on her arm. “What have we learned, Finn?”

“What haven’t we learned?” he asked, eyes brightly bouncing back and forth between the two women. “That’s a much better question! Whoever this Carterius chap was, he knew what he was doing! I wish all scholars were this good. Would have made life so much easier when I was learning history at the Circle. I wonder what else he’s written in the—”

“We can worship the author another time,” Ariane told him, attempting to get him to focus. “What did you learn?”

“Pah! Don’t either of you have any appreciation for the dramatic?” Finn lamented, raising his arms above his head and pacing a quick circle in the space behind the table. In response to Safir’s raised eyebrow and Ariane’s tapping foot, he relented and began to summarize the new information. “Oh, fine. You two are no fun. Carterius discovered much about how eluvians actually function in practice. The book says that an exchange is required between the eluvian and its user. In order for it to function, you need to accept a part of its essence into your own, but you must offer it some of your essence in return. 

“I can’t be sure, but I suspect the connection has something to do with traveling safely through the eluvian. By allowing a piece of the eluvian’s magic to reside within me, I enable myself to walk through unharmed. Similarly, because it has a piece of my magic, the eluvian is able to transfer my physical self elsewhere! Oh, this is just _fascinating_ , isn’t it?”

Blank looks from both Safir and Ariane quickly smothered the flames of Finn’s enthusiasm.

“I need more mage friends…” he complained.

“We can always go back to the Circle and get you some,” Safir offered him, a transparent threat. “Maybe I’ll go find a Templar to take you back?”

“That won’t be necessary, Safir!”

“I don’t know, Finn,” Ariane pressed. “If you don’t get to the point soon, we might have to find a less chatty mage to help us activate the mirror.”

“Fine, fine! In any event, it looks like I was right about it communicating with me, after all.”

“What do you mean?” Ariane asked. “You’re not talking about the conversation you think you had with the mirror, are you?”

“That is precisely what I am talking about, my dear.” Finn began pacing back and forth across his side of the small table, making insufferable hand gestures as he explained. “You see, Carterius also discovered that in the days of old, the ancient elvhen constructed an entire network of these mirrors. They formed an interconnected web of portals which they could use to travel vast distances in mere moments!”

“So the eluvian we found and the one Morrigan used…” Safir started, tapping a finger to her chin, “they were both just part of a bigger network? Do you think that’s why the scrying worked?”

“It’s very likely,” Finn confirmed. “Carterius theorized that all eluvians were connected in some way by a nexus of some kind. A sort of hub where they all met. My translation must be a bit rusty, though, after all these years away from the Circle.”

“Why do you say that?” Safir asked him, hoping his information was still good. Ariane dejectedly walked back to where she and Safir had been sitting moments before.

“Well, according to my translation,” Finn began, “Carterius said the eluvians functioned by transporting the user through a realm that was neither the waking world nor the Fade. And unless it’s possible to travel through the veil, no such realm exists.”

Ariane quickly rejoined them following Finn’s explanation, planting her hands on the table and staring intensely at the mage. 

“What did you say?” she asked.

“About?”

“About the place that wasn’t the waking world or the Fade, obviously!”

“Oh!” Finn yelped. “Nothing much, really. Carterius said the eluvians made use of a realm that was neither of them. My translation must be spotty. Or maybe _intra regni_ simply had multiple uses in older Tevene that I didn’t learn in the Circle.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your translation,” Ariane disagreed, shaking her head. “Finn, my clan’s lorekeepers used to talk about a place just like that!”

“Beg pardon?” the mage asked, bewildered. Safir brought her palm up to her forehead. She wasn’t sure if she should be glad that the world could still surprise her, or worried.

“They said our people used to travel for miles, like you said, in just a few moments,” Ariane continued. “That we used to have access to more powerful magic that enabled us to warp the physical world around ourselves. That we accomplished this by traveling to a space between it and the Fade! I thought it was just runaway fancies until now. Now I’m thinking it might actually be real.”

“So you think that throughout all history, every single scientist, mage, and scholar has been completely and utterly oblivious to the existence of a third dimension that exists outside of the waking world and the Fade and which allowed people to essentially teleport across continents in mere seconds?” Finn inquired, making the entire idea sound rather difficult to believe. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, Finn,” Ariane replied.

“ _That is incredible_!” Finn answered, his excitement expressed as something between a grunt and a scream. “Absolutely magnificent! To think, there may actually be an entire realm unexplored by modern academia! We might even get to name it, if we go there! Oh, I think I need to lie down.”

“My inner scholar is just as excited as you are, Finn,” Safir said, willing him to focus again. “But does any of this really help us? Are we any closer to knowing how to activate the eluvian?”

“Hmph! You sure know how to sour a mood,” Finn replied, once again dismayed at the lack of enthusiasm. “As it happens, yes, we are. Carterius was very helpful in that regard.”

“Excellent,” Ariane encouraged him. “So… how do we activate it?”

“Well, it’ll be difficult to explain since you’re not…” Finn paused, clearing his throat before resuming. “But why don’t I try, anyway?”

“Good save,” Ariane quipped. “Go on.”

“From what I remember from the scrying, and from what dear sweet Halward Carterius has helpfully told us, the eluvian needs to be unlocked by some kind of magical key. I suspect this is what Morrigan spent most of her time researching when she first activated the eluvian,” he said, once again pacing and gesturing obnoxiously to the room as though he was giving a lecture at the University of Orlais. “But we’re in luck! For once an eluvian has been unlocked, it remains unlocked so long as the person who unlocked it has not decided to lock it again. So, assuming Morrigan has neglected to lock the eluvian, it should still be unlocked, and thus, available to us.

“‘But wait, Finn!’ I hear you say. ‘That doesn’t tell us how to activate the portal!’ Right you are! Unlocking the eluvian is only the first step. It must still be activated before it can be safely used, lest you try to run through it and end up smashing it to bits. So, how do we activate it? Simple! By attuning myself to the magical properties of the mirror and creating a resonant flow of my own magic, I can combine its energy with mine, thereby creating a reciprocal connection between myself and the mirror which, in theory, should empower the underlying mechanisms in the mirror to warp the physical world around itself and create a direct tunnel of sorts to the sister eluvian out of which we will spring on the other side.”

Ariane and Safir stared back at Finn utterly confused.

“In essence, just chuck enough magic at it and, hey presto! It’s activated!”

“Next time, start with the simple explanation,” Safir said, “and spare all of us the confusion.”

“Pity it wasn’t something more complicated, really,” Finn answered. “I could have figured this out for myself!”

“I’m sure you could have, Finn. Is this everything we need?” Ariane asked. “Should we head to the Wastes?”

“In the middle of the evening?” the mage complained. “But we only just got here!”

“I didn’t mean today, idiot.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, yes. We’re all set to go.”

“This is the first good news I’ve heard in a very long time,” Safir sighed, relieved. She crossed the main room to head back into her father’s, but found him fast asleep. She would have to tell him another time. 

Until then, there were three empty stomachs to fill and plenty of food elsewhere in the city. The next morning, after each of them had had some rest, they decided to set off at last for the Dragonbone Wastes, where they would hopefully be one step closer to finding Morrigan.

“So, this is it, then?” Cyrion asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “I only have the comfort of having my daughter back home for a single day?”

“Yes, this is it, Pa. I’m sorry,” Safir answered, moving away from the entrance to distance herself from Finn and Ariane’s quarreling. Having already thanked Cyrion for his hospitality and headed outside, they were already involved in some spat or other about Maker knows what. “I wish I could stay longer.”

“No you don’t, Safir.”

“No,” she sighed in agreement, bowing her head. “I don’t.”

“Well, then at least come here and give your father a hug, will you?”

Safir answered his request without argument, crossing the space between them in a heartbeat and wrapping herself about him. Together they stood for moments without speaking, each of them simply basking in the presence of the other.

“I love you so much, Little Owl,” her father told her, squeezing her more tightly with each word. “Please, be safe.”

“I love you, too, Pa.” Safir swallowed and drew back from the hug to look him in the eye. “And I’ll come back to you. That’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Safir,” he laughed. “There isn’t anywhere in Thedas or beyond where I won’t be able to find you!”

A particularly vigorous yell from outside caught their attention, ending the embrace somewhat suddenly. While her eyes were still focused on the open doorway, Cyrion loosed his arms so that his hands were on her shoulders.

“Off you go, then,” he said with a warm smile and a kiss to her forehead. “Be well, Little Owl.”

With a final glance, Safir turned away from her father and stepped out the door, ready to greet the open expanse of Thedas yet again. Cyrion followed her out but remained on the landing as she descended the stairs into the mucky alienage ground. Finn and Ariane’s argument, evidently about who should have to carry which supplies, was now too close at hand and too loud for any more goodbyes between her and her father. Instead, they exchanged words for movement, giving each other one last wave just before the clutter and bustle of Denerim obscured their lines of sight.

“We are getting breakfast before we leave, aren’t we?” Finn asked, making good on his claim to constant hunger. 

“Hunted rabbits and nugs are hardly fit to start a journey with,” Ariane agreed. She glanced expectantly at Safir as though the decision was solely in her jurisdiction.

“What are you guys looking at me for?” she asked, throwing her hands up as a display of her innocence. “I’m not the arl of Breakfastburg!”

“Well, you are technically in charge,” Finn suggested. “Our leader, as it were. The reason any of us are even going on this journey.”

“Finn’s right, Safir. You’re the one giving the orders here.”

“Really? I prefer to think of us as an autonomous collective.”

“You’re fooling yourself,” Finn denied. “Without you, I’d probably still be getting pissed in Gwaren.”

“As is your right,” Safir told him, satisfied that she’d made her point.

“So if I were to say, right now, that I wanted out of this little expedition and instead went to Hercinia to sample Antivan wines and ogle Free Marcher women, you would have nothing to say about that?” the mage pressed, clearly persistent in his desire to be proven right.

“You leaving?” Ariane asked, considering the prospect with a pensive frown and a hand on her chin. “Is that a threat or an offer?”

“Very funny,” he droned sarcastically before returning his attention to Safir. “Answer the question, then.”

“Would you at least refer us to another mage who could activate the eluvian?”

“I could, if you asked”

“Safe travels, then, Finn!” Safir cheered, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Who should we talk to when we get to the Circle?”

The three of them each laughed at the joke as the sights, sounds, and smells of Denerim passed around them, the city’s personality altered by every street they traveled. The light of morning painted the city orange just as it had when their ship arrived the day before. Walking slightly behind her companions, Safir doubted her hair benefited nearly as much from the light as did theirs.

Before long, they were quiet again, audience only to the sounds of the city bustling about them and the fierce rumbling of Finn’s stomach.

“So hang on a minute,” the mage began.

“Yes, Finn,” Safir sighed, palming her forehead. “We are getting breakfast.”


	8. Chekhov's Skill Acquisition

Squatting at the edge of the stream to refill her canteen, Safir relished the cool touch of water on her skin. She lingered there a while after the canteen was full, staring at the trees across the stream while allowing the water to course around and between her fingers as it flowed east towards Denerim. Only a day out from the city, a little under one week stood between her and the eluvian in the Wastes. How much longer after that she would find Morrigan was a mystery. Even more mysterious was what would happen once she did find her.

Safir’s thoughts were interrupted by footsteps approaching from behind. Judging by their softness, she guessed it was Ariane.

“Are you ready?” sang the Dalish’s voice.

Perplexed, Safir simply turned around to look at her with scrunched up eyebrows.

“For your swimming lessons,” Ariane said.

Safir’s eyes widened at once and she realized that Ariane was not wearing her armor. She was barely wearing anything at all, in fact, as she stepped without hesitation into the stream and began treading water mere feet away.

“You’re insane,” Safir said, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

“As I recall,” Ariane responded, a painful smugness in her voice, “you told me to ask you again when we were not on a ship. I don’t see a ship around here. Do you?”

“As _I_ recall, I never said I would agree to the lessons!” Safir stood up from the edge of the stream and backed away several feet as if even touching a drop would kill her. “You can forget it! I’m not killing myself when we’re so close to finding Morrigan!”

Ariane rolled her eyes and stifled a laugh. “For one thing, you have no idea how much longer it’ll take to find Morrigan. And for another, this water is barely five feet deep. You could crawl to safety if you have to, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that. Now strip down and get in.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Coward!”

“So what?”

“Wow,” Ariane gasped, her eyes wide. “I was sure that would work!”

“People are supposed to walk,” Safir fought. “Swimming is… unnatural.”

“It feels pretty natural to me, Safir.”

As a display of her confidence, Ariane twirled her arms about and flipped her entire body backwards. Her face rose up from the surface covered in a thick sheet of her darkened garnet hair. 

“Doesn’t this look fun?” she asked, her voice softened by the sopping wet curtain that was plastered to her mouth. “Come in!”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Safir refused, sitting down on the grass several yards away from the stream’s gravelly shore. 

“Are you serious? Creators, not even Finn took this much convincing!”

“Finn’s an ass, but he hasn’t got half my constitution. I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

“Do you want to be terrified of water for the rest of your life?” Ariane prodded. Even hidden underneath the surface, Safir could tell her hands were on her hips. “What if something happens and you fall into a lake with no one there to save you?”

Safir simply shrugged and tilted her head to the left. “I’ve wanted to die before. I’m sure I could remember that feeling in a pinch if I had to.”

Ariane, apparently struck dumb by the casual ease with which she’d made the joke, stood silently in the stream without knowing where to look. Safir rolled her eyes and stood up again.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.”

The other elf brightened up in an instant, and she splashed water in Safir’s direction. “Go on, then! Take your gear off and come join me!”

“I’m flattered by your eagerness, Ariane,” Safir joked, shaking her head as she began undoing the buckles that held her silverite vambraces in place. “I truly am. But I prefer the company of men, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh, stuff it, you ass.”

“I don’t mean to cause offense, I promise,” Safir reassured, pulling her right arm free of the armor that covered it. “I just want you to know nothing’s happening between us so you aren’t disappointed later, that’s all.”

“ _Alas ma dirthera_ , Safir.”

“What?”

“You’re talking shit,” Ariane clarified with an exasperated sigh as she brushed matted hair away from her eyes. “Just get in here before I change my mind.”

“Wait, there’s a chance you’ll change your mind and leave me alone?” Safir asked with mock hopefulness, pausing in the middle of undoing the buckles on her other bracer. “You really mean it?”

“Not anymore.” Ariane pushed herself backwards and began swimming on her back while she waited for Safir to finish undressing.

And what a laborious process that was. Safir cursed whoever invented the belt buckle as she turned her attention to the straps that held the leather guards in place over her upper arms. Once that was through, it came time to undo the buckles fastened to her cuirass and pauldrons, after which she finally pulled off the bulk of her armor. Slipping out of her gambeson vest and removing her shoes allowed her, at last, to strip down to the bare essentials and follow Ariane into the stream very hesitant and very exposed.

The cool water was a shock to her bare feet, to say nothing of the slick, sandy bottom of the babbling stream. She grimaced in response to the odd sensation of slippery sand curling around her toes but nonetheless persevered, boldly spurring herself forth until the water was all of waist high.

“Well, that seems like a good stopping point for now,” she said, turning around to head back for the shore. “Should we pick this up again tomorrow?”

“Not so fast, Safir!” Ariane cried. She knew better than to think that would actually work. “Come closer.”

“Counter-offer,” she began, holding her index fingers up and out to emphasize her proposal. “What if I don’t come closer and stay here instead?”

“What’s the matter?” Ariane asked, swimming closer to where Safir stood. “Have you never been in water deeper than that?”

“Not willingly.”

“You must be joking,” she gasped.

“How is it a surprise that the girl who can’t swim hasn’t been in deep water?” Safir asked, throwing her arms out in frustration. “Are you going to teach me or not?”

“Yes, of course,” Ariane said, attempting to diffuse the tension by patting the air with her open palms. “Let’s just start small. Can you float?”

Safir shook her head. “Ducks float. Elves sink.”

Ariane simply raised an eyebrow before leaning backwards into the water and splaying herself out across the surface. Safir twisted her neck to follow her as the current began to pull her away.

“See how easy it is?” she called back from thirty feet downstream. Ariane then took once more to her feet and approached Safir, walking toward her and following the riverbank to minimize the current’s resistance. “Here, I’ll show you,” she said once she stood only a yard away. “Just take a deep breath and let the water carry you.”

Safir made no attempt to hide her hesitation and looked down at the water while nervously biting her lip.

“Oh, just do it, already,” Ariane nudged. “I didn’t expect the Hero of Ferelden to soil herself over something as simple as water. You drink it every day, don’t you? Come on, I’m right here.”

“Don’t push your luck, inkhead.” Safir followed the warning with a deep, reluctant sigh and leaned back into Ariane’s waiting arms. She twisted her face in discomfort as the water filled her ears and she found herself staring up into Ariane’s focused eyes. Her back lay on the other elf’s open hands.

“Okay, good,” she told her, nodding her head with a grin. “Now, deep breath.”

Safir did as instructed, filling her lungs and observing the peculiar weightlessness that spread across her body. The current pushed her gently to the side, bumping her into Ariane’s chest with just enough force to knock her back a step or two. She closed her eyes and did not dare release the breath she’d taken lest she slip underneath the surface. Her quickened heartbeat pounded loud and strong, its steady rhythm amplified by the water that surrounded her ears. 

“This isn’t so awful,” she admitted, blushing a bit as she let out a nervous laugh.

“I told you, silly!” Ariane chided, adjusting the placement of her hands on Safir’s back. “You’re doing fine.”

Then, without any warning, the hands disappeared from underneath her and she heard Ariane stepping away to leave her at the mercy of the current. Fear spurred her into action, prompting her to splash violently in the water as she floundered to regain her footing.

“Are you insane?!”

“What?” Ariane yelped defensively, throwing her hands up. “You were doing just fine! I was barely touching you!”

“I could have died!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Safir! This river isn’t even deep enough to drown in.”

“You don’t know that,” Safir argued, pointing a righteously angry finger at the other elf. “I could have gotten confused and gone the other way into deeper water and been swept away into the sea.”

“Creators, now you’re just being ridiculous. Try again.”

“Has it occurred to you at all that maybe I don’t want to try again?” Safir asked indignantly. “That maybe I don’t want to learn how to swim?”

“Yes,” Ariane confirmed, “it has. And I don’t care. The Hero of Ferelden will not be done in by a puddle. Now quit stalling and try again.”

Sticking out her tongue and making a rather rude gesture with her arms, Safir did as instructed, this time roughly tossing herself back onto the surface of the water to spite Ariane. She scowled up at the sky, watching the boughs of trees pass her by as the current bore her along. Anger soon gave way to fear, however, as she realized she had no way of knowing how deep the water beneath her was and no way of arresting her own movement.

“Ariane!” she called desperately, craning her neck just to catch a glimpse of the other elf. “How do I stop?!”

“Just pretend you’re a boat and your arms are the oars!” her voice rang, carrying over the water quite clearly despite the evident distance. “You’re close to the shore, so just paddle backwards and you’ll be fine!”

Safir slowed her quickened breaths, willing herself to calm down and focus on the instructions.

“I’m a boat,” she told herself, raising her arms above her head and striking at the water. She inched backwards, but it would apparently take more than a single stroke to reach the shore. “I’m a boat,” she asserted again, striking at the water more forcefully and propelling herself a greater distance. The cool water crashed about her face as she moved through it, startling and refreshing all at once.

“You’re doing great, Safir!” Ariane’s voice called out, now somewhat dimmed. “You’re almost at the shore!”

Safir paddled again and again, not stopping until she ran aground like a dinghy carrying explorers to uncharted lands. She stood at once in the shallow water and raised her arms triumphantly as she stared back into it.

“I’m a boat!” she shouted amid a victorious cackle, kicking at the water with enough force to send droplets to the opposite shore. “Ha-ha! Fuck you, river!”

“I’m so proud of you, Safir,” Ariane professed after a quick jog to catch her up, clutching her hands over her heart and feigning tears. “I could cry. Really.”

“Did you see that?!” Safir hissed in her rush of excitement, pointing dramatically at the coursing stream. 

“I did! Congratulations. You have now swum.” Ariane paused a moment, lowering her brows and staring off into the middle distance. “Or, is it swam?”

“I think it’s swum, but we should ask Finn.”

“Well, in any event, you’ve done it,’ Ariane repeated, bowing low as a display of humility. “How does it feel?”

“Like I just kicked this river’s ass,” Safir replied, her verbal bravado paired with a matching act of violence perpetrated upon the waves. “What’s next? Diving off a waterfall?”

“Slow down. It takes a lot more than a couple of backstrokes to be able to really swim.”

“Obviously. So lets say I want to keep my head above water without being a boat. How’s that work?”

“Oh! Treading water?” Ariane clapped giddily and skipped back into the stream. “Here, I’ll show you!”

For the next hour or so, the two women splashed, sank, and technically swam through the stream. With each passing minute Safir’s hesitation lessened until, surprisingly, she actually began to enjoy her time in the water. Despite the fun, however, she spent as much of that time as possible keeping close to the shore where sure feet could still cling to smooth sand. 

Before the hour was through, Ferelden’s temperate climate revealed itself more fully in the light of the setting sun and standing half naked in several feet of cool water became a much less attractive prospect. Shivering, Safir stepped out of the stream and collected her gear before making her way back to the campsite, where Finn was already warming his hands by the stoked fire while scanning the pages of a worn book.

Safir dropped her clothes and armor at the foot of her tent, crawling in to retrieve a blanket with which to dry herself and keep warm. Wrapping it around herself, she sat opposite Finn on the other side of the fire. Ariane, a half minute behind her, soon did the same and took a seat to Safir’s immediate left.

“Two barely clothed elven women approach him at a cozy fire,” Ariane complained in a whisper, barely audible over the crackling fire. “And he doesn’t even look up. I can’t believe him.”

Safir offered a puzzled look in response to the comment, after which Ariane shrugged defensively.

“What? It’s just nice to be appreciated, that’s all,” she said.

“No, that I understand,” Safir replied, nodding slowly. “What I don’t understand is why you’d want that sort of attention from Finn. _Finn_!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Safir. He’s an ass, you’re right.”

“But?”

“You saw me at your father’s house, didn’t you?” Ariane asked, blushing enough that even the firelight could not mask the redness of her cheeks.

“Yes… and I also saw Finn barely paying any attention to anything other than what his good friend Carterius wrote centuries ago.” Safir wrinkled her brows and shook her head lightly. “Why you found that so fascinating, I have no idea.”

Ariane looked at Finn, still engrossed in his book and silently mouthing the words in it.

“He told you that we’d been together, right?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Safir confirmed. “That you’d fucked a few times but it was weird so you stopped.”

“Oh, is _that_ how he put it?” Ariane scoffed, crossing her arms and scowling. “Men and their fool pride… It was more than that.”

“Was it, now?” Safir asked, painting her expression with as obnoxious a smirk as she could muster. She settled more comfortably onto her seat to hear the rest of Ariane’s gossip. “Go on, then.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” the Dalish lamented, staring at the ground. “Would you not rather finish this discussion when its subject is further away?”

“No way. You’ve said too much already. Keep talking.”

“He is _right there_ , Safir! This will be mortifying if he hears!”

Safir raised an eyebrow and glanced lazily at the mage through the flames that separated them. Then, speaking again at a normal volume, she said, “Hey Finn, I’ll suck your dick if you close that book.”

The comment provoked no response.

“See?” Safir drawled, motioning to the mage with an open palm. “He’s completely distracted. Keep talking.”

Ariane sighed almost mournfully as she agreed to continue the conversation against her better judgment. “We didn’t just fuck, as you so delicately put it. There was more to it than that.”

“Such as?”

“Such as feelings!” she hissed. “Romance. Passion.”

“So it wasn’t as awkward as he said it was?”

“No, it definitely was. That part of his description was true, he just minimized what was actually going on between us,” Ariane explained, searching Safir’s eyes and wringing her wrists. “The times after were always strange. But the _during_ was incredible.”

“I have a hard time believing that the _during_ with Finn could be anything other than sad and embarrassing.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ariane said. She motioned with her eyes toward the still focused mage. “You see how concentrated he is on that book? Nothing can distract him when he’s like this.”

“Sure,” Safir agreed, though she did not follow her thinking. “But what’s that got to do with—”

“Now imagine that you _are_ that book, and you are the sole object of his attention.”

Safir pictured it briefly, admitting to herself after shaking her mind free of the image of Finn hovering above her that the prospect of being so well attended to was actually quite alluring. She felt a wild rush of nerves flutter through her middle.

“That’s what being with Finn is like,” Ariane finished. 

“Okay, I see what you mean now.”

“So can you blame me for a moment of weakness when I wanted to feel that again?”

“No, I suppose not,” Safir scratched her head. “I just wonder. What’s stopping you from feeling it now?”

“You weren’t with us all those years you were gone,” Ariane said, though the implication of the statement was lost on Safir.

“Astute,” she joked after a pause.

“What I mean is, he wasn’t the same after you left,” Ariane clarified. “Or, he was, but not for very long.”

“How long were you even… you know…”

“Fucking?”

Safir shrugged affirmatively.

“Six months, maybe. But after that he let the freedom go to his head and he just wasn’t the same person anymore.”

“So helping me out made you remember what that was like?” Safir guessed.

“Exactly. I haven’t seen this side of him in so long, and as much as I’d like to try again, there’s no way of knowing if it’ll last once this is over.” Ariane’s head hung low, supported by her open palm. “Creators, I can’t believe I’m even telling you this.”

“Neither can I,” Safir agreed. “I’d never have trusted myself with this information.”

“ _Banal dirth melava_ , Safir!” Ariane warned her. “Creators help you if Finn hears a word of this.”

Safir clapped a hand to Ariane’s shoulder with a warm smile. “Don’t worry yourself over it.”

“Thank you, Safir. I’m glad I can trust you.”

“Of course! I don’t care nearly enough about you two to get involved with this.” 

“How comforting,” Ariane said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Without delay, Safir stood from the fire and shook the blanket off her shoulders. Though her skin was warm and dry, the undergarments she wore were still soaked through with river water. She crawled partway into her tent to retrieve a spare set and emerged again, picking up her trousers and linen shirt. She took a few steps away from the light of the fire and undressed, now fully exposed to the world around her. 

Curious, she hazarded a backwards glance in the direction of the fire and noticed that Finn had still not looked up from the tome. Maker, but Ariane was not lying at all about his focus. Quickly, she pulled on the spare underdrawers and the baggy trousers that covered them. She drew her loose linen shirt over her head as she returned to the campfire without bothering to put anything on underneath it. Setting the wet smallclothes to dry by the fire, she returned to her previous seat and ran her hands back through her still damp hair to settle it. 

“I suppose I should get dressed as well,” Ariane yawned upon Safir’s return. 

Safir looked straight at Finn after the other elf excused herself, shaking her head at his cluelessness.

“You’re an idiot, Finn,” she sighed, leaning back to lay on the dirt and watch the emerging stars scroll slowly by overhead.

Ariane returned a short while later freshly dressed in clean white cotton. Sitting down in front of the entrance of her tent, she looked around the camp with a bored smile.

“Oh, blast,” Finn cried suddenly, shutting his book and setting it aside. “There’s not enough light to read by anymore. Did I miss anything interesting?”

Safir and Ariane’s hands clapped in unison upon their foreheads.


	9. Definitely, Absolutely, Unequivocally Not the Mines of Moria

Days of hiking across the north of Ferelden had brought Safir, Finn, and Ariane to the depths of the Dragonbone Wastes for the second time, though it was Safir’s third visit to the desolate land. Little, if anything, was different about it this time around. Like before, the night air hung quiet and thick, too cold to comfort and too still to refresh. 

Along they walked through the now too familiar trenches that were carved through the grassless dirt, each of them alert and on edge for fear of what might be hiding behind the remnants of ancient architecture or the dragon bones that jutted from the ground. Previous visits to the Wastes had both been violent excursions. Thankfully, nothing in Safir’s mind warned her of the presence of darkspawn. The extension of her senses that was tied to their hive mind remained silent on approach to the Nest. 

The same could not be said of the Wastes themselves, however, and a sudden noise like the falling of rocks came to them from around a blind corner. At once, they drew weapons and stood at the ready.

“For pity’s sake, would it really be so much to ask that one visit to ancient and creepy ruins be peaceful?” Finn asked, his staff already flickering with the beginnings of an offensive spell. 

“I thought you liked killing things now,” Safir joked, gripping her sword hilts tightly and loosening her tense muscles.

“Be that as it may, I prefer to do it when I choose to! No one likes getting ambushed.”

“On that, we can agree,” she replied. “Well, whatever it is, it isn’t darkspawn. And it’s obviously too shy to attack us, so we might as well approach and spring whatever trap it plans to catch us with.”

“A sane person would have had us avoid that trap,” Ariane quipped, though she was no less eager than Safir to step around the corner and see what awaited them. 

Reassured by the comforting flow of a freshly cast barrier swirling about them, the women proceeded around the shadowy bend only to find that the cause of their worry was a pair of nugs fighting over a scrap of food. 

“Come on out, Finn,” Safir called over her shoulder. “It was a false alarm.”

Onward they continued through the enormous cemetery, passing under and around the ribs of long dead dragons and counting the skulls strewn about the path. Before long, the moonlit maze of corpses and dirt mounds gave way to larger ruins and brought them nearer to the entrance of the Nest, to a familiar patch of ash and dust that years ago played host to a desperate battle. Safir took her surroundings in as she passed through a ruined archway and entered the small clearing in which she’d fought a varterral on her last visit.

“Do you think there’s any chance of running into that thing again?” she asked, reliving the encounter as she spied the claw marks gouged into the stone walls.

“The varterral, you mean?” Ariane asked. “It’s not likely. Unless it was magically bound to this place, it would have no reason to return.”

“And if it was?”

“I’m not sure,” she continued, studying the environment closely as if to search for some sign of the beast’s presence. “My people’s knowledge is incomplete, but from what we understand, a magically bound varterral is effectively immortal.”

“Effectively immortal, did you say?” Finn interjected, his voice slow and skeptical. “How’s that work, exactly?”

“I can’t say for sure, Finn. That’s just what I heard from my clan growing up. But essentially, it means that no matter how many times we defeat it in combat, it’ll always come back eventually.”

“What could possibly be so interesting about this shithole?” Safir asked, kicking the clearing dirt around as she spoke. 

“I have no idea,” Ariane answered. “Hopefully, that means it wasn’t bound. In either case, I wouldn’t want to see it again. We should probably head _inside_ the Nest just in case.”

“Right. Inside the Nest. Again.” Safir pocketed her hands and slouched as she approached the arched wooden door that opened into the cavernous ruin. “So many fond memories to revisit!”

“Oh, I know,” Finn added, though strangely his enthusiasm seemed genuine. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? This is the _exact_ spot where Finn the Circle Mage became Finn the Outlaw!”

Ariane grunted her disgust as she followed Safir to the door and pushed it open, holding it to allow her to pass. Ignoring her trepidation, Safir took the first step into the Blight-infested structure and immediately set off down the spiral staircase that descended through the first of several stone silos. Walking down rubble-laden steps illuminated by moonlight beaming in through holes in the ceiling, Safir attempted to drive out as many of her memories of this place as she could, focusing instead on the dated architecture. With evenly spaced columns taking the place of a banister, it was clear that ancient Tevinters cared little for public safety.

Hearing the door close as the prelude to the concert of footsteps that trailed behind her, Safir hung her head and sped her descent. The sooner out of this place, the better, and the closing of the entrance made for a convenient metaphor to strengthen the determination with which they would attack the eluvian when they reached it. 

“So…” Ariane started, her voice bouncing across the fractured stone of the cylindrical stairway. “What do you expect we’ll find on the other side of the eluvian?”

“It’s impossible to say, really,” Finn answered. “Maybe it’ll be a nice meadow, or perhaps a mountainside cabin.”

“Your optimism is endearing, Finn.” Ariane sighed loudly before continuing. “What do you think, Safir?”

“Me? Well, knowing Morrigan… probably something horrible.”

“What exactly constitutes horrible, in your opinion?” Finn asked her.

“I’m not sure. But even conversing with Morrigan is not for the faint of heart.”

“Do you think there will be traps?”

“Oh, definitely. We’ll be lucky if we’re not dead the moment we enter,” Safir guessed, only half joking. She ran her fingers along the dusty, cracked wall as she descended each step, every now and then feeling the empty spaces between the more heavily damaged stones. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’ll find on the other side. Morrigan didn’t give me very much to go on the last time we were here.”

“What about in her notes about the cure?” Ariane wondered aloud, her voice now very close behind.

“Still not much information. All she said was that she found them in her travels and thought they might interest me.”

“She’s not very forthcoming, Morrigan, is she?” the mage criticized. “If she were _my_ friend, I’d have a thing or two to say to her about that.”

“You have a thing or two to say to _everyone_ about _everything_ , Finn,” Ariane complained. Safir could almost hear her eyes rolling, a reflection of her own exasperation at the thought of enduring yet another argument between these two.

“And what of it?” Finn defended, voice raised in both pitch and volume. “I have useful things to say!”

“That’s rich. If it weren’t for your knowledge of Tevene, we wouldn’t need you at all.”

“My knowledge of Tevene is what got us here in the first place!”

“After Safir and I did all the research!”

“And got lost the moment you found something useful!”

“And could have figured it out for ourselves if we showed it to anyone else who spoke Tevene!”

“And would have been entirely unable to activate the eluvian even if you knew how!”

“And would have realized that in time to find another mage to help us!”

“And would have—”

“Will both of you, _please_ , shut the fuck up?!” Safir demanded, slamming the hilt of her dagger into the support pillar at the inner edge of her step and turning on her heel to face them. “I swear on the Maker’s right tit, the two of you would be more useful to me as kindling than as company! Now can we please, for the love of all that is good, behave ourselves and get to this eluvian in peace?”

Panting, Safir turned back around and headed the rest of the way down the first staircase, thankful that her outburst had met with some modicum of success. Just as she planted her foot on the final landing, the silence was broken yet again, this time by Finn.

“What do you suppose crawled up _her_ arse?” he asked Ariane.

The elf ignored the question as she caught up with Safir at the edge of the circular platform that the staircase ended in. They stood side by side at the opening of the archway that led to the massive subterranean bridges connecting it to the next silo. 

“It’s… much darker here than I remember,” Ariane whispered nervously as she gazed into the blackness on the other side of the archway. With the moonlight only penetrating as far as the first chamber, it was clear that whatever magic had kept this place lit before had long since died out. The bridge before them gradually faded into darkness, going on for twenty or so feet before disappearing entirely into pitch black nothing.

Safir took a step forward, and then another, only just beginning to immerse herself in the darkness. “Finn, you’d better lead the way from here,” she called over her shoulder, her eyes flitting from side to side in an attempt to scan the blackness ahead for movement.

“It’s a pleasure to serve,” he said as he took point and illuminated the tip of his staff. Then he lazily flicked the staff in a forward arc, cutting through the darkness with a thin spark of light that sped through it like an arrow until it came to a rest at the other end of the bridge. “Oh, goody! We’re still the only ones here.”

Finn whistled as he led the way across the bridge once the darkness resettled over it, his staff still tipped with a glowing ember of magic. As one speck of light crawled forward to meet its twin, Safir and Ariane glanced around themselves uneasily. The mage’s nonchalant attitude was not an easy one to share in such a thick fog of black. Their collected footsteps echoed and boomed across the otherwise silent cavern like the percussive march of titanic beings whose strides were far longer than their own. Huddled together in a solitary sphere of light, they continued on down the bridge, some of their confidence returning with each uneventful step they took.

Finally, they reached the other end, where they were met by the second of three spiral staircases, this one entombed in a tower set into the bare rock. The stairs were in much worse condition than the last set, lined with more rubble and fractured in more places. The further down the spiral they went, the worse it looked; by the halfway point there were bones and discarded weapons strewn about the steps. Pale red stains painted the natural stone where the Blight had taken root.

Soon, the air told stories of spilled blood and tainted flesh, reaching forth with the pungent stench of rot and ruin.

“I can never get used to that smell,” Ariane groaned, taking care to avoid treading on the thin tendrils that infested the circular platform.

“Really?” Safir asked her, raising an eyebrow. “I find it comforting after being tainted for so long.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“No, I can’t,” she agreed. “It’s disgusting, obviously. Though, it is nice to know that no matter how shitty I feel, it can always get much worse.”

“Yes,” Finn interjected, “I can definitely see how that would be a soothing thought.”

“Okay, let’s not get distracted,” Ariane sighed, taking the first steps toward the bridge that led to the final set of stairs. “We should get moving. Finn, we need you at the front again.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, looking up at the ceiling and withdrawing the ball of light which still hung at the top of the silo. As it approached his staff, he swept it down and forwards, leading the ball across the bridge and into the third tower. Fumbling a moment in the renewed darkness, Safir waited for him to light the tip of his staff again and lead the way. 

The taint’s infection grew worse with each step they took. The tendrils of rot thickened as they crossed the bridge, marked every now and then by the fleshy sacs that were typical of Blighted places. Safir’s attention was inexorably drawn to these vestiges of the Mother’s infection. The tendrils writhed in her mind’s eye while the sacs convulsed and twisted, a searing scream of agony playing in her ears as she watched. It took her far too long to recognize the call of the Blight as it reached out to her from the heart of another tainted creature.

“Darkspawn,” Safir muttered, barely audible over the reverberating footsteps of her companions. Silently, she drew her swords from the belts hanging at her sides. 

“What did you say?” Ariane asked, her eyes flitting between the blades in Safir’s hands.

“Darkspawn!” she repeated, turning Ariane back around with a stiff shove on her shoulder. “Weapons out, now!”

“What is it?” Finn yelped, clutching his staff tightly and squaring his hips. “Are we outnumbered? Are we going to die? Oh, Maker, we’re going to die, aren’t we?”

“Shut up and let me focus!” Safir demanded, closing her eyes and opening her mind to the taint in her veins. The song emerged from the silence, bitter and agitated, and warned of the impending attack. Answering its call was a strained voice striking out against the melody. A fat, low gurgle of a voice, barreling forth like a battle cry. “There’s… just one,” she breathed, grimacing as she attempted to put the song out of her mind again. “But it’s big. It might be an ogre.”

“How close?” Finn whispered, struggling not to let the fear show in his trembling voice.

“Very. Get ready.”

Finn recalled the ball of light at the other end of the bridge, bringing it to bear on the space just in front of them. He channeled more energy into the hovering orb, enabling it to penetrate deeper into the black that surrounded it. They could now see fifty feet ahead clearly, and about a hundred if they strained themselves. A small range under normal conditions, but quite sufficient within the confines of a long, solitary bridge. 

Safir’s Blight-sense reached out to her of its own accord as an indication that the lone darkspawn was now too close to be ignored. Soon, she heard its movements coming from somewhere underneath, and she was no longer the only one able to detect it.

“What is that noise?” Ariane worried, backing away several paces until Safir reassured her with a hand on her back. “It sounds like a hundred legs crawling across the stone!”

“That’s because it is,” Safir sighed as the realization crashed upon her. “Keep your guard up. Short of a broodmother, there are few darkspawn as dangerous or as disgusting as a childer. And this one sounds massive.”

“And what, might I ask, is a childer?” whimpered Finn, readying a ball of flame at the end of his staff.

Before Safir could answer, the beast completed its climb, pulling its gelatinous bulk over the balusters that lined the bridge thirty feet ahead. Its spindly clawed arms flailed about while it roared in the darkness, its mouth hanging open and dripping with venomous bile.

“ _That_ ,” she began, “is a childer. The largest I’ve ever seen. It must be years old.”

“I see. It’s quite horrible,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Any advice for killing it?”

“Yeah. Don’t die.”

Safir charged forward with a raspy scream, dodging left as the enormous childer spit a stream of poison in her direction. It raised a claw as she closed the distance, swiping left just a foot above the ground. Barely reacting in time, she leapt over the blow and plunged her swords into the loose flesh that hung beneath the childer, spilling foul blood and ichor down her armored sleeves. Crouching between the beast’s legs, she turned in time to watch its head flip upside down to bite at her with an outstretched pair of jaws. She crossed her swords in front of her to defend against the onslaught when a blast of flame erupted behind its head, causing it to focus instead on Finn.

She swung her swords in twin arcs as it charged toward the mage, slicing off its back legs and slowing its movement. The childer answered with an agonized shriek as it jumped forward to attack Finn.

The mage responded quickly, summoning a pillar of ice from the ground to encase the childer’s neck and leave its head exposed. Ariane took the opportunity to circle around to its legs and cut herself a path through them to attack the vulnerable center. Safir ran forward to join her, ducking to avoid a reflexive swipe from the monster’s tail while Finn sent a jet of flame down its throat. She cut another of its legs off with a downward slash, after which the childer lost its balance and let its overgrown body fall to the right, where it slammed into Ariane with enough force to knock her off her feet. Safir rushed over to help her up, turning her back to the childer just long enough for one of its claws to strike her in the back and send her careening into the balustrade. It gave way at the base, unable to stop her movement and falling with her over the edge of the bridge.

With a desperate lunge, Safir loosed her grip on the sword in her left hand and caught herself on the nearest railing, watching the glint of metal plunge into the darkness below as her sword fell into the abyss. Gasping, she awkwardly sheathed the sword in her right hand to better clamber back onto the bridge, where Ariane and Finn still engaged the furious darkspawn. Watching the fight from between the balusters, she noticed the cracks beginning to form in the pillar of ice Finn had used to contain the monster. To her left, even larger cracks grew in the stone bridge, rubble and dust slipping out of them with each shift of the childer’s weight.

Safir pulled herself over the railing and dragged Ariane with her to the monster’s rear.

“Finn!” she screamed, trying to make herself heard over the beast’s hissing roars. “Finn! Get over here!”

The mage followed the order as best he could, delicately maneuvering around the childer’s flailing limbs as he rejoined the women on the other side of it.

“What’s going on?!” he demanded, bolts of lightning and blasts of fire still spewing forth from his staff to scorch the tainted flesh of the childer’s abdomen.

“Don’t waste your energy!” Safir ordered him to stop. “It’ll take ages to kill it that way. But the bridge… it’s cracking.”

“What’s your point?”

“Break the bridge, and the childer falls with it!”

“Yes! And then we’re stuck here!” he argued, preparing another salvo of fire.

Safir grabbed his wrist and forced his arms down, staring him fiercely in the eye. “That’s an order, Finn.”

“But what about… what if the eluvian doesn’t work? How will we get out?”

“It’ll work!” Safir barked, shaking him roughly pointing at the bridge’s weak point. “Do it!”

“Finn, she’s right!” Ariane pressed him, nudging him between the shoulders. “We have everything we need to activate it, but we have to save our energy for whatever might be on the other side! Please!”

Finn turned to face them both, his frenzied eyes glistening under his furrowed brows. He opened his mouth to argue yet again just as the ice keeping the childer immobile split and weakened against its struggling. “Oh, fine! But I don’t like this!”

Drawing on the Fade again, Finn brought his staff down in a vicious arc, summoning boulders from the darkness above and slamming them down onto the weakened bridge. The existing cracks were joined by new ones and grew too large for the faltering support to keep it the section aloft. The three of them watched as the ruined bridge fractured and plummeted into the darkness below, accompanied by the Blighted scream of the falling childer. Seconds later, the low boom of rubble impacting stone arose from the cavern, ringing in their ears with the confirmation of the monster’s death. They stood now at the edge of the abyss with no hope of returning to the surface through normal means. The eluvian was now their only way out.

“Fucker cost me my sword,” Safir moaned, adjusting to the weapon weight that now rested on only one side.

“Brilliant,” Finn complained, shooting another ball of light at the tower on the far end of the bridge. “Just brilliant. Now we’re stuck here. Is there anything else you’d like me to destroy? Perhaps I could get rid of that pesky staircase so we can jump down the hundred-foot tower?”

“Whatever happened to that trademark Aldebrant confidence?” Safir teased him, leading the way toward the final silo. “You were so sure just a short while ago that you’d be able to activate the eluvian without a second thought!”

“And I still am!” he insisted, stamping his foot. “I just don’t like taking unnecessary risks, that’s all.”

“Either way, Finn, we’re almost there,” Ariane said, following Safir to the next tower. “And we don’t have to worry about any more darkspawn, right Safir?”

“I don’t sense anything else down here,” she confirmed. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Their hearts still beating rapidly from the encounter with the childer, the trio set off down the final staircase, where the circular platform at the bottom attached not to a bridge but to the damp ground of the Nest. Finn’s floating orb of light followed them out of the tower and into the pockmarked hollow. To the left, following the growing veins of Blight-rot, was the path that led to the Mother’s lair in the center of a massive subterranean lake. Thankfully, that path was not their aim. Leaving the tower, they veered right toward darker and drier caves.

The trail they followed wound through the underground, leading them through tunnels and over chasms in the pitch-dark until at last, they reached a familiar hill. Unlike the previous locations, magic still resonated in the open space that contained the eluvian. The glass archway stood as before, flanked by stone figures at the top of a short set of stairs, lit by sourceless rays of light streaming down from above. 

“Maker… it’s hard to believe we’re finally here,” Finn muttered. He lowered his staff, extinguishing the illuminated ball at its tip and approaching the eluvian cautiously. “This is exciting isn’t it?”

“Incredibly!” Ariane agreed, following closely behind. “It was amazing just being in the presence of the mirror. Now we actually get to go through it!”

Safir froze in place at the foot of the hill, watching Ariane and Finn investigate the mirror giddily. Rather than share in their excitement, her mind danced back in time to the image of a lonely girl collapsing to her knees with her palm pressed against its glass. 

“I can’t wait to see where it leads!” Ariane clapped, her hand draped across Finn’s upper arm. 

“Neither can I! I’ll get to work immediately,” he gasped, setting down his pack and staff to focus his energy on the eluvian. “This shouldn’t take very long…”

Still watching silently from afar, Safir could not quiet the unease in her own mind about what they would find on the other side of the eluvian. Images and ideas swirled restlessly in her head, each bleaker and more dreadful than the last. Her mind guessed at traps, at dead ends, and at disappointments, somehow unable to accept the possibility of any of this going well. And even should they succeed, and find a clue that would lead them to Morrigan, it was impossible to say whether she would greet them as a friend or as a witch. Safir crossed her arms and tapped her foot, trying in vain to still the nerves that coursed through her body.

“What are you doing?” Ariane wondered, a finger on her chin as she watched Finn press his forehead to the mirror.

“I am _trying_ to understand the eluvian’s magical signature, so that I can match it with my own,” he explained.

“Is it working?”

“I can’t tell if you keep interrupting me, can I? Please, I need to concentrate.”

Ariane sighed, throwing her hands up and turning to rejoin Safir at the bottom of the hill. “How are you doing?” she asked upon reaching her.

“Oh, you know. Just wondering about the weather on the surface, that’s all.”

“There’s no need to be nervous,” the Dalish whispered, gently placing a hand on Safir’s forearm. “Finn will have the mirror open in just a second, and before you know it you’ll be back in Morrigan’s company.”

Safir and Ariane sat bored on the ground ten minutes later, still waiting for Finn to work his magic. Evidently, reactivating eluvians for the first time was painfully slow work. The sluggish pair of hours that followed consisted primarily of idle chat and complaints of hunger. Safir, starved of activity and interest, resorted to tying and untying her hair every few minutes just to have something to do. She’d just finished retying it for the seventh time when Ariane wrapped up a riveting description of her taste in baked goods.

“Well, long story short,” she summarized, “that’s when I realized that pies simply weren’t for me.”

“Really?” Safir asked her, as shocked by her reasoning as she was by the fact that she actually cared. “Over a simple accident and a few beard hairs?”

“I’d never enjoyed pie to begin with, and that man finally ruined any chance I had of enjoying one in the future.”

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“That’s Kirkwall,” Ariane countered.

Turning around, Safir watched Finn for a moment or two as he continued his noble struggle to activate the mirror. “Whose turn is it to check on him now?”

“I think it’s yours,” Ariane answered. “You want to go have a look?”

“Yeah, I think I could stretch my legs.”

Rising up from the dirt, Safir began a relaxed stroll up the hill, stopping just a few paces short of the manic mage. He had his right ear pressed to the glass and was tapping it at various points along its surface. 

“How’s it looking, Finn?”

“Oh, marvelous!” he yelled, frenzied eyes flashing back and forth between Safir and the eluvian. “Absolutely marvelous, can’t you tell? Why, I’ll have this thing open in just a second!”

“What have you tried so far?”

Finn shifted his weight and sat with his legs spread out in front of him and his back to the silent mirror. Then, counting on his fingers, he sighed, “Well, let’s see. I’ve tried shooting magic at the mirror. I’ve tried coaxing the mirror to shoot magic at me. I’ve tried a modified scrying to see if I can at least learn where the mirror leads. I’ve tried begging the Maker for help, _twice_. And finally, I’ve tried listening, _literally_ listening to the mirror to see if I’m missing anything.”

“And none of that worked, I take it,” Safir guessed, allowing her shoulders to drop as a display of her dejected disappointment.

“My, but your powers of intuition are stunning to behold, Safir,” the mage answered sarcastically, throwing his hands out in front of him and widening his eyes in mock amazement. Then, after a long, sorrowful breath, he stood up and squared his shoulders with hers. “I begin to fear that Morrigan may have locked the eluvian after all.”

“Okay, well, I’m not sure how, but try to find some way to motivate yourself more and keep trying,” Safir said, patting Finn on the arm. “Here’s a thought. Maybe use the fact that we’ll certainly starve to death if you can’t get this thing open. No pressure, though.”

“Do you mean to insult me, Safir?” Finn moaned, draping his hands across her shoulders and collapsing into a shameful heap. “It’s not lack of motivation keeping us stuck here, it’s that I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“Well, stop that!”

“Excuse me?” he asked, raising his head again with a confused frown.

“Stop that,” she demanded again. “Stop not knowing, and start knowing. Aren’t there any more ideas floating around in that head of yours?”

“Well, I… I suppose I _could_ try imposing my own will on the mirror, forcing it to open. You know, similar to the way a demon forces itself upon its host!”

“Sounds good!” Safir agreed, pulling his hands off of her. “Now get off me and get back to work!”

“Right away, Safir! I think this might be the key to opening it!”

At once, Finn set his sights back on the eluvian, focusing on his task with vigor and resolution. This was the third time he’d needed a pep talk since his attempts to activate it began. Safir suspected it would be the last one to have any effect as she turned away from the eluvian and made to rejoin the other elf at the foot of the hill.

“Ariane, I hope you’ve made your peace with the Creators, because we’re going to die here,” she sighed, her last words punctuated by the furious stomping of Finn’s boots on the ground.

“Blast! Crack and confound this condemnable contraption!” he shouted, suddenly falling silent the moment he’d finished speaking the curse. Ariane, who had turned around to address Safir, stared at the mirror with her mouth agape. “Oh dear,” Finn began, “I think I’ve done it.”

Safir turned again to find the mage standing squarely in front of the eluvian with his arms outstretched and basking in its purple glow. Ariane rushed past her to join him at the top of the stairs, softly dragging her fingers across its scintillating surface. The glass responded to her touch like water, small ripples crawling beautifully across the mirror in slow, deliberate waves. Safir stood transfixed by the great expanse of possibility that lay before her as Finn and Ariane began a celebratory round of conversation.

“Creators, Finn, you did it! You actually did it!” the Dalish lauded, unable to contain her excitement. “I never doubted you for a second!”

“Are you sure?” he responded, still bewildered by the fact that he’d actually succeeded by accident. “I thought for sure we were going to die down here…”

“Of course I am!” Ariane assured him, both hands on her head. “Oh, this is incredible! I can’t wait to go through!”

“Well then, by all means, go right ahead!” Finn urged her, gesturing with an open palm toward the mirror.

“What?”

“Well, you want to go in, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. But you opened it. It’s only fair that you should go first.”

“And fall victim to whatever nasty trap Morrigan has waiting for us? I think not!”

“Oh, but it’s perfectly fine for _me_ to fall victim to it? You’re unbelievable!”

“What? You’ve better armor than I do, and you’re much more agile! You’ll be fine!”

Ignoring this latest in a long series of lovers’ quarrels, Safir stepped forward, her legs driven by some indistinct will within her. Deaf to their argument, she strode right between them and continued without pause into the eluvian to meet the world that awaited her on its other side.


	10. We're Not in Thedas Anymore

Safir emerged from the eluvian into an alien realm of stark gray fog and vibrant trees swaying above still water. A meandering river of obsidian stretched out before her, dividing the gray lake into uneven halves and winding through the trees that lay ahead before disappearing into the mist. Faint colors swirled throughout the distant sky, a spellbinding medley of greens, pinks, and blues that pulsed arrhythmically in wispy clouds. Above, a featureless vignette blanketed the whole of this world and painted it with the soft light of a sun without a face.

Footsteps sounded behind Safir moments after her own had echoed in the cool air that surrounded her, accompanied by the low hum of the eluvian’s magic. 

“Maker’s balls…” Finn breathlessly whispered, his voice joined by a gasp in Ariane’s.

“Where… where are we?” she wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Safir replied, dragging her eyes across the floral boughs that hung above their reflections in the glassy surface of the water. “But this sure as fuck isn’t Thedas.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Ariane said, staring at the trees with her mouth hanging open. “I’ve never seen so beautiful a place!”

“Are you joking?” Finn yelped, frowning as though her exclamation was a direct insult to himself. “It’s ghastly! All gray and dreary, surrounded by dead trees…”

“Dead trees? What are you talking about?” Safir demanded.

“I’m talking about the dead trees everywhere, obviously!”

“Finn,” Ariane started, her puzzled eyes looking cautiously at her friend. “The trees are in full bloom, with pink leaves and red flowers.”

“What? That can’t be right,” he argued, whipping his head around for a second look at the sparse wood. “They’re all dead! Safir, what do you see?”

“I’m with Ariane on this one, buddy,” she confirmed.

“Fascinating,” he mumbled. “This place appears to look different depending on who’s watching. It could be that it looks different to elves than it does to humans. Now, _that_ would be… telling.”

“You don’t think this could be the Fade, do you?” Ariane asked, kneeling down at the edge of the rocky path and soaking her hand in the water.

Finn took several steps forward, breathing deeply and spinning in an attempt to absorb every detail the environment could offer him. “This is not the Fade,” he muttered.

“Then what?” Safir inquired, her hands on her hips.

“ _Intra regni_ ,” the mage whispered. His eyes widened with realization as he combed his hair with a free hand. “Ariane, I think your clan was right.”

The Dalish stood from her crouched position gleefully, facing Finn with a wide grin and breathless excitement. “Do you mean it? Are we in the place between?”

Finn shook his head slowly, blinking under furrowed brows while tapping a finger to his chin. “Well, yes and no. I believe this is the place your clan spoke of—the place that is neither the Fade nor the waking world. But it isn’t… between, really. Not as far as I can tell.”

“What does that even mean?” Safir questioned him, still trying to figure out how a place could be outside of both the physical and the dream world.

“It means that, whatever this place is, it’s not strictly _between_ anything.” Finn bounced his attention back and forth between the two elves and, noticing their confusion, continued his explanation with greater care. “This place is everywhere and nowhere all at once. I can feel traces of the Fade in the air, but the ground here is still solid. ‘Fade’ and ‘not-Fade’ don’t apply here.”

“You are not making sense,” Safir complained, rubbing her forehead.

“It’s like this,” Finn sighed, poking at the ground with the butt of his staff. Dragging it across the rock with accompanying crackles and sparks, he scorched its surface with bright orange lines drawn in parallel. “The bottom line represents the waking world, and the top one represents the Fade. As you can see, they don’t mix. _This_ line,” he added, drawing a zig-zagging path between the two previous ones, “is the veil. It separates the Fade from the physical world. With me so far?”

Ariane and Safir nodded in unison.

“Great. Now, watch closely.” Picking up the staff again and choosing a point somewhere above the Fade’s line, he quickly and roughly burned a fourth line into the rock, this time an erratic one with sharp corners and abrupt changes of direction that intersected all of the previous ones. “ _That_ , as far as I can tell, is where we are now. This world is not like the others. It crosses over them and intersects with them at odd angles, hinting at each of them but not quite representing them.”

Safir straightened her posture and fit the pieces with each other, trying in vain to square the words with the sensations. “So,” she began, “in essence…”

“In essence,” Finn answered promptly, “this is fucked and I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Good to know we’re on the same page, then,” Safir sighed. Exasperated, she turned around on her heel, letting her eyes fall on the eluvian. It looked the same physically as it had in the Nest, but was no longer flanked by statues. Additionally, what was once a purple glow was now a stark white that shimmered with the faintest hints of blue. “Can you shut this off again, please? I don’t want any darkspawn to follow us through.”

“Oh! Good thinking!” Finn agreed, squaring his hips in front of the eluvian. “Let’s see… I think it was like this…”

Safir faced the other direction again, wondering where the rocky path might lead. Ten feet wide and rising only inches off the surface of the water, it faded into the foggy distance only a hundred or so yards into the watery woods. 

It took Finn some moments, but eventually he seemed to realized that raised arms were essential to operating an eluvian. He dusted off his hands after sealing the way in and returned to Safir and Ariane’s side.

“Where to now, then?” he asked of them.

“We only have one way forward,” Ariane declared, pointing ahead to where Safir was watching. “We might as well follow it.”

“She’s right,” Safir agreed, taking the first steps forward and starting down the path.

The environment changed little in the opening minutes of the hike. The wandering obsidian pathway turned many times, rounding the trees that stood in the endless lake at random and at times circling towards itself to retread the same ground. Following it seemed a frustratingly pointless exercise in wasting time, though strangely the hike itself was comparatively enjoyable. Safir’s boots clung well to the surface of the stone, gaining more traction here than on any ground in Thedas and allowing her to speed along the path with remarkable ease. The air, too, felt light and thin, though breathing it was invigorating, filling her lungs with an electric rush of tireless energy. She felt she could walk here for hours without pause or weariness, and Ariane matched her pace happily.

Finn, however, trailed ever behind them and did not seem to agree. “Will you two slow down?” he groaned, leaning into his steps as though walking up a slight incline. “Maker’s balls, the air is like syrup here, it’s so dense. How have you not tired yet?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ariane taunted, spinning as she walked with her arms outstretched. “I feel almost weightless here.”

“And you, Safir?” he asked again. “Does this place make you want to dance naked in the moonlight as well?”

“Not that there’s any moonlight here,” she began in response, glancing up at the empty sky, “but yes, the air here feels particularly airy. Walking is almost effortless.”

“How can that be? It’s as though this place fights every step I take! I feel like we haven’t stopped in days!” Finn continued to complain by way of grunts and scoffs, looking resentfully around himself as though each tree he passed had insulted his mother.

“You know,” Ariane started, “that’s the second time this world has appeared differently to Safir and I than it has to you.”

“Yes, lucky you,” Finn mocked, sticking his tongue out as he finished the thought. “Your point?”

“This world has proven itself a friend to elves. And, well, I can’t help but wonder if that’s by design,” she suggested. “Perhaps this world is _for_ elves.”

“ _For_ elves?” Safir repeated, furrowing her brows at Ariane. “How could it be _for_ anyone?”

“I’m not sure, but doesn’t it make sense? Think about it,” Ariane enjoined her, stopping in her tracks and grabbing her by the arm. Finn bent over in a literal huff, evidently relieved at the chance to catch his breath. “My clan said our people used to use this place to travel vast distances. There must be more eluvians here, right?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean—”

“If the eluvians were an invention of our ancestors, then isn’t it possible that this entire realm could be an invention, too?”

“But what could be so powerful as to create an entire world?” Finn argued, apparently recovered enough from his exhaustion to engage in academic debate. “It took hundreds of slaves’ blood just for the Magisters Sidereal to tear a hole in the veil big enough to walk through. You’re talking about creating an entire dimension!”

“But how do you explain the fact that this world looks different to Safir and I?” Ariane challenged.

“I don’t!” Finn admitted, throwing his hands up. “But I don’t jump to conclusions, either. Let’s keep moving. Perhaps Morrigan will know more, when we find her.”

Without another word, Finn led the way forward. He seemed to struggle a bit at the onset, fighting the weight of his boots as he began walking, but quickly fell into a more or less comfortable rhythm at a consistent pace. Charming though his determination was, Safir and Ariane overtook him before long as if carried forward by the very will of the space around them. They kept to the path of black rock as it wove through the sunken forest, noticing as they followed it that the density of the trees around them was swiftly waning. Moments after making this observation, the three of them stopped dead in their tracks as they came across a most peculiar sight: just ahead, only a short walk away, was a fork in their road. One branch of obsidian veered left where the other veered right. The split was not dramatic, but it nonetheless represented the first real choice they’d been faced with since exiting the mirror portal.

“Now what?” Finn asked. He beheld the divergent paths with the innocent curiosity of a child, neither upset nor alarmed, but simply unsure.

“I say we go left,” Ariane declared, confidently stepping forward and pointing an arm down the path.

Safir narrowed her eyes and watched for a response from the mage. When he did not offer one, she gave her own, wondering whether Ariane was privy to some cartographical secret about this world. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know,” she explained, though her confidence remained.

“If you don’t know why you want to go left, then why do you want to go there?” Finn questioned her. He seemed particularly irate in the face of such illogical decision-making.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Ariane clarified. “I want to go left _because_ I don’t know what lies ahead. Nor do either of you.”

“I have to say,” Safir said as she began pacing to the water and back, “this isn’t your best work, Ariane.”

“All I’m saying is that none of us knows anything about this place, so we shouldn’t waste our time trying to make an intelligent decision. I say we go left, and if the road splits again, we keep going left.” Ariane emboldened her proposition by striding further down the left branch of the road’s fork and waiting for them to follow. “If we don’t find anything useful by going left, we can come back again and try going right.”

“She’s got a point,” Finn admitted, shrugging at Safir and setting off to join the Dalish warrior.

“Fuck it,” she relented. “I’m right behind you.”

Taking the left road proved to be quite uninteresting indeed. Its path bent less frequently and less violently than the one that had preceded it, and accompanying this boring trajectory was the continued thinning of the forest that surrounded it. Safir wondered whether the other path would have provided more of interest to look at, or if it at least engaged the legs and eyes with more energetic turns. Even their arrival at a second fork in the footpath was stripped of its moment by Ariane’s seemingly prescient insistence that they keep going left. They did this twice more, venturing further and further away from the forest into which the eluvian had deposited them until only a handful of trees were still visible on the backward horizon.

Not that it was surprising, but they encountered no one else on this road throughout the entire trek; the only company this world seemed willing to offer them was their own. The shallow water that surrounded the paths of stone, if indeed it was shallow this far from the forest, remained still. If there were any creatures residing beneath its surface, they were too silent or slow to make themselves known. With the trees gone, the distant clouds were now the only sight available, and it was while she watched their pulsing lights that Safir noticed, at a great distance, the idle flapping of a black bird’s wings.

“Do you see that?” she asked her companions, pointing ahead and to the left, where the bird still flew.

Ariane followed her finger to its target first, immediately catching sight of the animal with a relieved gasp. “It’s a crow! Thank the Creators we’re not alone here!”

“Are you sure?” Finn puzzled, scratching his chin while tracking the bird with his narrowed, pensive eyes. “It looks more like a raven to me. Or perhaps a large a large rook.”

“How can you even tell?” Safir doubted him. “It’s a mile off, at least.”

“Well, it’s some manner of corvid, at least,” he offered. “In any case, this is good news. It means we might not starve if we get stuck here!”

“It’s starting to look a lot more like a _when_ to me,” Safir admitted, gesturing to the vast emptiness that surrounded them. “Honestly, I think I’d have preferred a volcano to this. At least in a volcano you know where you stand.”

“This world seems kind to us, Safir,” Ariane argued. “I’m sure we will find our way soon enough. For now, let’s just keep following the road. Perhaps we should try to reach the crow?”

“Or raven!” Finn reminded.

“Or rook,” Safir added, wagging her finger at him lest he neglect to be thorough in his observations. 

Following the road yet again with a bit of renewed enthusiasm and hope, they soon found that the time for splitting paths and empty horizons was coming to a close. The rock on which they trod widened, no longer a path but a plain decorated by weeds and the occasional boulder. The trees returned as well, their pink leaves blanketing the stone around their now visible roots. Hand in hand with this change of scenery was the gradual addition of stone statues and other man-made structures that dotted the land, breaking up the monotony of what passed for natural in this gray land. The largest of these scenic interruptions was a collection of three ruined brick buildings whose mason’s work succumbed to the ravages of time even despite the stillness and temperance of the world in which it was done. The buildings, each of them a square of hewn black stone, stood opposite each other in a rubble-lined courtyard at the center of which was a patch of scorched pavement and a small pile of ash.

“Someone’s been here,” Ariane helpfully declared, sifting through the ash with her fingertips, “though it’s impossible to tell how long ago. The campsite is cold.”

“It could have been Morrigan’s, all those years ago.” Finn gripped his staff with both hands as though it was a walking stick and gave the courtyard a cursory glance. “Did she give you any indication that she knew where the eluvian led when you spoke with her? Perhaps she happened upon these buildings just as we have and decided to set camp.”

“A place as calm as this, it’s possible,” Safir surmised, wondering at just how old the ash might really be. “Though it doesn’t sound like Morrigan to be unprepared. Speaking of setting camp, though…”

“We _have_ been walking for hours, Finn. And from the looks of it, those hours must have felt much longer to you than they did to us,” Ariane agreed, her concerned eyes trained steadily on the mage. “I don’t know if night will fall here, but rest would do us all some good. Let’s check in these buildings and make sure we’re safe.”

Safir chose the building nearest to her, turning to face it after Ariane had entered another and slowly approaching its entrance. Set almost in the very corner of the twenty foot wall that formed the building’s facade, the now empty door frame led into a quiet and echoing room full of musty air and loose rock. She dragged her feet along the floor, glancing up into the void above through a sizeable hole in the ceiling. Circling the courtyard far above was the bird from before, a tiny black dot in the vertical distance. Safir pressed forward into the darkness cast by the parts of the ceiling that had not yet given way. She wandered through the large and open room, sidestepping ancient rubble and sifting through the refuse of ages past.

Most interesting among the dust and ruin was a torn sheet of canvas draped sloppily across a few rotten beams of wood. Safir hung her head and let her shoulders sag. If any of these buildings contained something useful or informative, it was certainly not this one. A broken bridge and no hope of escape seemed a very high price to pay to visit such a dreadful, useless place. She let this resignation sink into her, contemplating the possibility of admitting defeat when her thoughts were cut short by a sudden flapping of wings and what sounded like a brief puff of smoke.

“This I did not expect,” cooed a familiar voice from somewhere behind her. “What comes, my friend?”

Safir turned instantly, her heart skipping beats as her eyes landed on those of the robed woman who now stood before her, pale skin and yellow irises glowing in contrast to the low light.

The witch's name fell carelessly out of Safir's mouth while she strode forward to wrap her tightly in her arms. Unbidden tears stained the dark maroon of the woman's hood before she could even react to the sudden embrace. Safir let the moment stretch, small shudders of relief pulsing from her chest as she felt her sister's slender arms close around her waist. Many seconds passed before she withdrew, stepping back to wipe the tears from her eyes and even sniffling once or twice as the shock of reunion wore itself out.

“Hi, Morrigan,” she finally said.


	11. Reunited and it Feels So Good

“ _Hi_ ,” Morrigan drawled, mocking Safir’s informality with a sarcastic curtsy. “Have you really nothing more to say for yourself?”

“Apparently not,” Safir answered breathlessly, steadying herself with her palm on her forehead. Morrigan’s dark hair hung just as it had during the Blight, framing her pale face and golden eyes. “You… haven’t aged a day.”

“Whereas you have aged considerably!”

“It’s been a long time.”

“So it has. I am given to believe you’ve a good reason for appearing so suddenly.” Morrigan’s words danced as smoothly as ever, still draped in the haunting musicality of her voice.

“Technically you’re the one who appeared suddenly,” observed Safir, her heartbeat not yet calmed. Morrigan cracked a small grin, apparently amused by the comment.

“So I am,” she chuckled. “But in any case, I do not imagine this visit is a random one. So,” she sighed, strolling towards the stump of a broken pillar and sitting atop it with her hands in her lap, “how did you manage to find me?”

“I came here through the same portal you did years ago. And I don’t even know what _here_ is.” Safir waved one arm about to gesture to the strange, skyless realm.

“You managed to open the eluvian?” Morrigan asked, one eyebrow slightly bent. “'Tis most impressive.”

“Yeah, well, I had help. From the same people who helped me find you last time, actually. Them and some ancient Tevinter scholar who researched eluvians a very long time ago.”

“Even so, 'twas a considerable effort on your part. What is uncertain,” she breathed, pausing for effect as was her custom, “is why. What brings you here?”

“Morrigan, if I knew the answer to that I wouldn’t _be_ here.” Safir rolled her eyes as she watched the witch narrow hers in apparent confusion. “Your ‘leads.’ They weren’t exactly instructive.”

Kneeling down, she ruffled through her pack until she found the journal containing Morrigan’s notes as well as those written in Elvish. She tossed them into the other woman’s lap as she stood and folded her arms expectantly.

“What is the trouble?” Morrigan teased, idly flipping through the notebook.

“Those notes are incredibly cryptic, even for you. And those are just the ones I can actually read. What did you expect me to gain from a bunch of squiggly lines on thousand-year-old paper?”

“'Tis not too much to assume there is at least one scholar in Ferelden capable of reading the language of the elvhen, is it? You were able to translate instructions written in Tevene, after all.”

“Tevene isn’t a dead language.”

“Nor is Elvish, if one is among the right people,” Morrigan countered with a sly nod. “There are many secrets thought lost to this world that are simply waiting to be found.”

“Right,” Safir humored her, badly faking an inquisitive interest in forgotten history. “And these leads you gave me are just secrets I haven’t found yet?”

“'Tis impossible to say,” the witch admitted with a lazy wave of her hand. “Truth be told, I did not study them very thoroughly before I decided to pass them to you. They will prove useful, yes, but how useful I cannot guess.”

“So this entire cure thing is based on a _gamble_? On the off chance that one of these scraps of parchment will actually lead me to a way out of the calling? Wow. Thank you _so_ much, Morrigan.” Safir turned her back to the witch and leaned with her fist against the cobbled stone wall. “Honestly, coming from you, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“'Tis _not_ a gamble!” Morrigan snapped, her raised voice filling the room as she closed the distance between them and spun Safir around to face her. “The clues I gave you are useful, and they _will_ lead to a cure. This I know. Do not accuse me of carelessness.”

Morrigan’s piercing yellow eyes lingered on Safir's for a moment in the hanging silence that followed her words, softening only after the point had been made.

“Okay, fine,” Safir answered, raising her gloved palms in surrender. “I believe you. But I need your help.”

“Very well,” Morrigan agreed, nodding once and resuming her relaxed elegance. “I shall help you. But I must warn you, I cannot do so for long. I have much to do for myself.”

“That’s… fine. That’s fine,” she hesitated, already looking ahead at yet another impending departure of Morrigan’s. “I just need to make sense of these clues.”

A smile crept onto the witch’s lips as she faced the empty doorway. “Good. Come now, let us not speak of this here.”

Safir scooped the journal and the Elvish notes up from the dusty ground and stored them again as she followed Morrigan into the dim light of the gray world that enveloped them. Once outside, she found an utterly dumbfounded Finn standing across the courtyard with his jaw halfway to the ground and his eyes open almost as wide. Morrigan had crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one side, very obviously enjoying the chance to make yet another dramatic entrance.

“Ariane!” he called out, not bothering to take his eyes off of her. “Get out here!”

“What is it, Finn?” she answered, emerging from another building and immediately dropping her bundle of firewood on the ground. Like Finn, she stood transfixed in the witch’s presence. 

Sparing a quick glance around the courtyard before moving, Safir crossed over to where Ariane had dropped the firewood, picked it back up off the ground, and placed it in a neat pile where the previous campfire had been set. 

“Oh, by the way,” she said, still kneeling to organize the kindling, “I found Morrigan.”

“Is that right?” Finn asked, laughing nervously but finally managing to close his mouth.

“‘Twould be more accurate to say that I found her, if you must know.” Morrigan drew up behind Safir and lit a fire by magic, not sparing so much as a sideways glance at the new company as she warmed her hands.

“Is this what helping me looks like?” Safir asked, hands on her hips.

“Have patience,” she advised with a critical edge in her voice. “I have spent the last several hours as a raven, flying far above your head. I am cold.”

“By all means, then,” Safir withdrew, watching with curious eyes as Finn and Ariane approached the fire with slow, measured steps.

They stood still about a staff’s length away from the witch, huddling together and not daring to go any closer. After several moments of studiously ignoring their hesitation, Morrigan finally turned to address them as if exhausted by the effort of restraint.

“What?” she complained, waving her arms. “Is my appearance truly so frightening that you cannot even approach me?”

“Well, no,” Finn began, stumbling over his words with an unprecedented amount of reluctance to speak. “It’s just that, well, you’ve been the subject of two rather large search expeditions now, but we’ve never actually spoken to each other before. Safir’s descriptions of you were, how should I put it… unique.”

“ _Unique_ , am I?” Morrigan asked, raising her eyebrows at Safir. “I will be charitable and assume I am meant to take that as a compliment.”

“She didn’t say anything bad!” Finn shouted, shaking his palms at her. “Promise!”

“You mean apart from the time she called her a bitch for leaving her at the eluvian?” Ariane finally chimed in, making an entrance to the conversation that could rival even Morrigan’s for dramatic flair.

Safir simply shrugged in response to the witch’s pointed glare. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Well,” Finn cleared his throat, “yes, apart from that.”

“Then it would seem as though I have much to live up to! I certainly hope I do not disappoint,” Morrigan said, walking to a relatively clean patch of the courtyard and beckoning Safir to follow before sitting down on the bare stone. “How much have the three of you managed to learn from the clues I left?”

Safir eyed the ground sheepishly in lieu of a response.

“You cannot be serious,” she shook her head. “I will grant you that my notes were not exceedingly detailed, but to learn nothing from them would require an exceeding amount of stupidity!”

“Now, now,” Finn argued, “before we start calling anyone stupid, I feel we should reflect on the fact that Safir has not shared the clues with Ariane and myself.”

“And why might she have refused you that simple courtesy, pray tell?”

“Because neither of us were qualified to help,” Finn admitted without hesitation, “but that’s beside the point. The point, as I said, is that we were not given the chance to prove ourselves as not stupid.”

“I’m sure Morrigan doesn’t care about your fragile ego,” Ariane hushed him, already tiring of his role in the conversation.

“Sure, sure. But suffice it to say that finding her to begin with took some doing. A stupid person couldn’t have done that, now could they?”

Ariane rolled her eyes as she lowered herself to the ground at a right angle to Morrigan. Safir and Finn followed suit to complete the circle, the elves and mages opposite each other. Rifling through her pack once more, Safir pulled the journal and notes free and set them in front of the witch, waiting for an author’s explanation of their content.

“So,” Morrigan began, aligning the journal with the loose parchment, “am I to understand that no one else here has any understanding of what is on these pages?”

“Yes,” Ariane confirmed, “you are. I haven’t looked at them before, but I don’t know anything about the early Grey Wardens.”

“And the pages written in Elvish?”

“Most of that language was lost to history. I can’t read very much of it, unfortunately.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would be able to,” Morrigan slighted, reordering the loose pages of elven writing. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ariane demanded. “I’m Dalish!”

“Yes, a Dalish _warrior_ ,” Morrigan specified. “And your people are not so much the stewards of knowledge they believe themselves to be. The language is not nearly so shrouded as you assume.”

Ariane leaned closer to Morrigan, an intense curiosity in her eyes. “Are you saying you understand it fully?”

“Not fully, no, but better than any Dalish I’ve met thus far.” Morrigan quickly turned away from Ariane to address Safir. “I seem to recall that I left you with more than just scribbled notes.”

Nodding once, Safir took the blood vial from her rucksack and set it on the ground in front of her. “Just this vial of blood—darkspawn, I think—and a few plants. Apothecary’s tools.”

“You’ve had darkspawn blood with you this entire time?!” Finn yelped, leaning away from the dark vial with a cautious sneer. “Is that… I don’t know… safe?”

“We haven’t been attacked by darkspawn, have we?” Safir asked, chiding his doubt and cowardice.

“There’s still blood on your armor from that massive childer we killed!”

“Shit, I thought I got it all off,” she complained, inspecting her silverite vambraces for more traces of the beast’s ichor. “Either way, that was one darkspawn, and we were in its lair. That doesn’t count.”

“Whether 'tis safe or dangerous matters little,” said Morrigan, “because the blood is not darkspawn.”

“It isn’t?” Safir asked, bringing the vial close and studying it again. 

“No. 'Tis dragon’s blood,” she explained as casually as if it were a nug’s instead. “And it is quite vital to curing the taint.”

“Dragon’s blood,” Safir repeated.

“Yes.”

“Interesting. And the herbs?”

“Reagents,” Morrigan answered, drumming her fingers together in thought. “But I am not certain how they will be used, if at all. More important are the vial and the Elvish notes. I did not translate them fully, nor could I, but they contain information about the first Grey Wardens.”

“Where did you even manage to find such ancient elven writing?” Ariane wondered aloud, staring intently at the notes on the ground. “I can’t imagine it would have been easy.”

“'Twas not very difficult, in truth. I found them here, in my earliest explorations of this world. They were—”

“Right, right. About this world,” Finn interrupted, unable to contain himself. “What exactly _is_ this place? I can tell it’s not the Fade, but it feels eerily similar.”

“'Tis a fascinating realm, is it not?” Morrigan hinted, looking up at the void that hung above. “I do not know its every detail, but I suspect it was better understood by the elvhen.”

“Riiiiight,” he said, biting his tongue in concentration. “Has it got a name?”

“I am not sure. If it had one, I do not know it. I call it the Crossroads.”

“What inspired that name?” asked the Dalish. Safir could see the gears turning behind her eyes.

“Because that is how it was used,” Morrigan explained matter-of-factly, gesturing to the empty horizons. “A great many eluvians exist here. All of them, if my intuition is correct. The elvhen did not build roads. Because of this place, they did not need them.”

“Do you know what this means?” Ariane gasped excitedly, shaking Finn by his arm. “My clan was right! They were right, and I’m actually _here_!”

“Yes, I am sure 'tis most thrilling,” Morrigan scoffed, dismissing Ariane’s glee and returning her focus to the clues themselves. “I would, however, ask that we not distract ourselves from our present task.”

“Buzzkill,” accused Ariane, glaring at Morrigan and causing Safir to smirk. The witch hadn’t changed at all.

“So anyway,” she started, hoping to get the conversation back on track, “you found these notes in… the Crossroads… and they were about early Wardens. How do you know?”

Morrigan shuffled through the pages, scanning their contents for a specific passage. At length, she pointed one out and read it aloud: “ _Shemlen dirthara banal’lin… ghilas din’anshiral_. They speak of corrupted blood, of a path that leads to death. There is more. _Banalhan nan nadas. Hellathen sinan melanada tesa_. This refers to the Blight, and very likely the first. Whoever scribed this was observing the first Wardens from afar. They had a keen interest in them, though I cannot begin to guess why.”

“How does that lead us to a cure?” Safir asked, having hoped for something more relevant than a field report.

“It does not,” Morrigan supplied, once again searching the pages intently. “Not directly. But look at this: _Setheneran ena solas iras elgara vallas shiral. Haminas la veral solen abelas aravel la ghilas in dirth_. These are clues about where these Wardens were at the time, or where they were going.”

“She’s right,” Ariane nodded, her brows twisting in thought. “There was something about a mountain and a setting sun. And aravels, strangely enough.”

“More accurately, it refers to a mountain where the sun sets,” Morrigan corrected, much to Ariane’s visible discomfort. “As for the use of _aravel_ , the definition with which you are familiar is not the only one the word has. Here, it means a journey with purpose.”

“How is it that a human knows more of my own language than I do?” Ariane lamented. She bowed her head as if cursing her clan for not teaching her more.

“Do not trouble yourself overmuch,” Morrigan calmed her, though her tone was more condescending than courteous. “'Tis a difficult language to learn, but not impossible. I have spent a great deal of time and effort unraveling it.”

“A mountain where the sun sets…” Finn muttered suddenly. “That could be the Gamordan Peaks, no?”

“Don’t think so,” Safir shook her head. “The Wardens were founded in the Anderfels. They’d probably have been further north.”

“True enough,” the mage agreed. “The Hunterhorns, then. Either way, they were headed towards the setting sun. They were going west.”

“Indeed,” Morrigan spoke under her breath, pausing with a contemplative nod. “I came to that conclusion as well. Unfortunately, I did not read further, or else I do not remember what I read.”

“Ah, so we’ve learned relatively little, then! Good show.”

“For someone with the sense to abandon the Circle, you show a remarkable lack of intelligence,” Morrigan observed, narrowing her eyes at an offended Finn. “True, I have not provided you with much information, but 'tis information whose value cannot be dismissed. I will need time to further study these pages. In the meantime, I suggest we focus on my journal.”

“I looked through that before I left home. I don’t remember it being especially illuminating,” Safir said, wondering what the collected notes might have to say about a cure.

“It does not relate directly to your goal, but nonetheless its contents may be of use in devising a cure,” Morrigan hinted, flipping the book open and familiarizing herself with its pages. “There are many theories written here which I have since proven false. But there are also many discoveries related to alchemy and herbalism.”

“How will that help?” Ariane wondered.

“'Tis impossible to say, until we know what form this cure will take. If it is alchemical, it may be largely beneficial to have this knowledge.” Morrigan tapped a finger to a note she’d written underneath an illustration of a small, leafless plant. “For instance, dragonthorn roots are often used to stabilize more unpredictable reagents. When combined with shavings of felandaris, a plant which favors a thin veil, they have the effect of nullifying magic. I happen to know that both herbs are used in—”

“The Joining,” Safir finished, remembering Varel’s description of the recipe back in Vigil’s Keep.

“And now you know why,” Morrigan added with a grin. “'Tis not a guarantee of survival, of course, but without them it is likely that the Joining would claim the lives of many more Wardens.”

“Could I have a look at that?” asked Finn, his spindly fingers already hovering over the notebook.

“If you’ve any knowledge of herbalism, be my guest. I should away to study these elven pages thoroughly and see what more I can learn.” 

“Do you think I could join you?” Ariane’s voice carried more honey than ever as she twiddled her thumbs and stared longingly at the parchment in Morrigan’s hands. “I can’t pass up an opportunity to learn more about my people, and especially our language.”

“If it pleases you,” Morrigan accepted, standing up and moving to another part of the courtyard with an eager Ariane in tow.

Without a word, Finn snatched the journal up from the ground and pressed it close to his face, silently scanning its every page as if the whole of Thedas existed between its leather covers. Having become quite familiar with his habits, Safir thought against wasting much of her breath on trying to converse with him or ask that he share his observations. Instead, she shrugged to herself and set about making her rucksack comfortable enough to rest her head on. With her hands on her stomach and her eyes skyward, she gazed curiously into the void that hung above before slowly nodding off into sleep.

# ***

“Aha! Take that, Guineveron, you nasty pompous prick!”

Safir rose groggily from her improvised pillow, rubbing one eye as she fixed her attention once more on the redheaded mage. “What… what happened? You find something useful?”

“Well, not useful, no, but I found something here that confirms a theory I had back when I was in Kinloch Hold.” Finn jabbed his finger at a spot on the journal and shoved it into Safir’s face, though her vision was still too blurred to make much of it out. “It was about the relationship between lyrium and magic. I’ve always had a suspicion that it amplifies magical ability owing to its chemical makeup! The rock’s structure resonates uniquely with energies from the Fade, which is the source of its song as well!”

“Right… and who was this, er… Guivelpuff? And why do they need to take that?” 

“What? Oh, Guineveron!” Finn bit his lip and shook a fist at the space in front of him, brimming with self-righteousness and petty satisfaction. “Guineveron, that arrogant bag of druffalo shit, was another mage at the circle—the one who started calling me Flora, actually, the slimy git—and he just absolutely in _sisted_ that I was wrong! Would never let me hear the end of it! But who’s laughing now, eh? Thanks to your swamp friend’s groundbreaking research, I now have the satisfaction of knowing that Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire, and not the foul-smelling Guineveron, was _right_.”

“Actually,” Morrigan called from across the square, “I later discovered that that conclusion was incorrectly drawn.”

“Wait, what?” Finn yelped, his eyes wide under slanted brows. “You mean I was… _wrong_?”

“Better luck next time,” Safir sighed, patting Finn twice on the shoulder as she stood up to check on Morrigan and Ariane’s progress. Too tired to think of proper questions, she simply stood behind them as they worked and hoped to hear something interesting.

“Wait, I do not understand,” Morrigan said, quieting Ariane with a wave of her hand. “This passage does not make sense. It conflicts with prior information.”

“Are you sure?” the Dalish asked, hovering over Morrigan’s shoulder to get a look at the page. “Perhaps you aren’t translating it correctly.”

“No, I am! I… I must be.” Morrigan dragged a slender finger across the page repeatedly, eyeing the same line several times over. “ _Durgen… durgen_. That means stone, but… it cannot be. _Adahlen la durgen_! These Wardens were carrying wood and stone! Building materials!”

“Building materials?” Safir asked, sitting down across from the other women. “Why would they need that?”

“I do not know,” Morrigan breathed, suddenly full of a scholar’s energy and even managing to stumble over a word or two. “Perhaps they were instructed to build something, or to repair an existing structure! But they carried these supplies with them over the Hunterhorn Mountains, that much is certain.”

“Wait a minute,” demanded Ariane, “if they were bringing those materials over the mountains, then wouldn’t that mean they’d need carts and wagons? What the elvhen would have called aravels?”

“Yes,” Morrigan agreed, barely taking notice of Ariane’s glee, “you were right.”

“Aaaand?”

“And what?”

“I was right,” Ariane began, “which means you were…?”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Morrigan huffed, crossing her arms. “I will not bend to such mockery.”

“No, I want to hear you say it!”

“I refuse.”

“Come on, just say it. Say it once and I’ll never bother you again.”

Addressing Safir, Morrigan asked, “Are you simply going to allow this loathsome creature to pester me so?”

Safir tilted her head with a slight squint. “I mean, it does seem like it would mean a lot to her.”

Capitalizing on the offered support, Ariane scrunched up her brows with a pout and made begging eyes at the witch.

“Fine, very well!” she threw her hands over her head. “I was wrong. Are you satisfied?”

“Quite satisfied, actually. Thank you.”

“Okay, now that that’s settled,” Safir started, invigorated by her friend’s public shaming, “what does this actually mean? Would it even be possible to carry supplies like that over the mountains? The Hunterhorns are supposed to be impassable.”

“In most places, yes,” Morrigan agreed, traces of a resentful edge on her voice. “But not all. There is at least one path that leads through them, and I believe it would be large enough for a modest caravan. I have seen it while exploring in the Fade.”

“Do you even know what’s on the other side?” Safir pressed, wary of crossing a range that was famous for being impossible to cross.

“No, the elvhen who wrote these notes did not have very much to say on that subject.” Morrigan retraced her path through the notes quickly, her eyes flitting from passage to passage up and down the pages. “But they did make mention of a river. One that flows westward and which the Wardens followed closely.”

“So that’s a path through the mountains and a vague geographical starting point. Do we have a destination?”

“That we do. Reaching it will take some time, however. I suggest that we make camp and rest.”

“Way ahead of you,” Safir said, rising up from the ground and heading off to make ready for bed. Before she’d gone very far, she hesitated a moment and turned to face the witch, who was still on the ground. “Oh, and er… it’s good to have you here, Morrigan.”

Morrigan simply nodded with warm eyes and the slightest hint of a smile.


	12. The Lion, the Witch and the Warden

Safir sat in the empty doorway of the building she’d slept in, using a flat enough bit of rubble as a desk for the slip of parchment she drew on, a small stick of charcoal held gingerly in the fingers of her right hand. She dragged it along the paper with quick but careful grace, sketching out the bones of a new drawing. Every few seconds she looked up and into the courtyard to compare art to life, taking in the smaller details of Ariane’s hair or Finn’s leather overcoat and committing them to the yellow paper. The morning—if it could be called that—was a calm one, but given enough time alone, the pair could stoke the fires of an argument using as little as a glance for kindling. Safir counted on it, hoping for the opportunity to add a pointed finger or vicious expression to the drawing. Luckily, the fighting started just before she was planning on adding Finn’s hands to the sketch, and the drawing would forevermore capture the moment he balled them into fists in response to a rather nasty comment about his wits.

“Safir!” he yelled, eyes still trained furiously at Ariane. “Safir, have you got my map of Ferelden? _This_ one insists upon blaming me for its absence!”

“Only because you’re the one who lost it!” the Dalish accused, her finger trained on the mage’s throat like the tip of a spear.

Safir laughed to herself as she looked back down at the parchment, ignoring the question until she could sketch out Ariane’s arm.

“Safir!” Finn repeated. “My map! Do you have it or not?”

Shaking her head, she added the hand, careful not to smudge the drawing with her palm as she worked in the finer details of its knuckles.

“Well then quit faffing and come help us find it!”

“Do I really have to?”

“Yes, you do! Do you have any idea how lost we would be without that map? We might wander straight back to Kinloch Hold!”

“Fine,” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she exited the building and approached the campfire to become their unwilling moderator. “Fuckin’ circles mages… No sense of direction.”

“And I suppose that’s my fault, is it?” Finn asked indignantly. “I didn’t beg the Maker to please make me a mage, you know.”

“Well, for all of your studying, you’d think you would at least have memorized the map of your own country!”

“Arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Ariane chided, patting her open palms at Safir as if to calm her down. 

Safir furrowed her brows at her and made certain that she’d heard correctly before speaking again. “If this isn’t a pot and kettle situation, I don’t know what is.”

“What?”

“Pot and kettle,” Safir repeated. “Haven’t you heard that expression before?”

“No, I haven’t. Do you know what she’s talking about, Finn?”

“She’s calling you a hypocrite, I think.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m damned if I know.”

Safir dragged her hands down her face miserably, sighing up at the sky and wondering by what miracle she’d managed not to abandon Finn and Ariane yet. “The map, then? Where did you last see it?”

“Hmmmm… dunno.” Finn crouched and tapped his fingers to his chin, studying the ground like a hunter tracking his prey. “But I had it with me last night.”

“Yes, and then you lost it like an idiot!” Ariane yelled, shaking her fists and palming her temples. “And now we’re screwed.”

“Hang on a second,” Finn argued, “you’re Dalish! I don’t see why _you_ of all people would need a map, anyway!”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of stuff you don’t see, Finn.”

“What in the Maker’s good name does that mean?”

“If you weren’t such a dolt, perhaps you’d actually be able to figure it out!”

“I am _not_ a dolt!” Finn nearly screamed, predictably upset at his intelligence being called into question.

Like always, the pair continued to argue to the detriment of everything else around them, so engrossed were they in the game of pissing each other off. Realizing it would likely be several minutes before either of them remembered that the map even existed, Safir walked away from the campfire in the direction of her drawing, hoping to finish it before they calmed down. But then, spying Morrigan by herself in the empty distance, she changed course and made to greet the witch.

“If you’ve come to ask after the map, I’ve not seen it,” Morrigan called after sensing her approach. “Though why a mage and a Dalish would need one to travel their own lands escapes me.”

“That’s exactly what I told them,” Safir laughed, drawing up beside the robed woman. 

“'Tis a marvel that they have not killed one another.”

“I think they get off on it, to be honest. Like it’s some kind of sick foreplay for them.”

Morrigan chuckled and shook her head slightly, still staring into the gray distance. “They have lain together before, that much is obvious. I suspect that she finds herself attracted to the boy. 'Tis lucky for him that there is one woman in the world who is actually willing to have him.”

“You said the same thing about Alistair,” Safir recalled, staring down at the stone ground and imagining the grassy patches of Fereldan hinterland in its place.

“Indeed,” Morrigan nodded. “And I dare say ‘tis even more true for Finn than it was for him. Now then, I assume you’ve a reason for approaching, if you care not for the lost map.”

Safir looked her up and down, smirking to herself. “You’ve been alone too long, Morrigan. Don’t you remember how this works? We all share a camp, you go off on your own like an unfriendly cat, and I come to bother you every now and again for pointless conversation.”

“Ah, yes, many thoughts of your irritating behavior spring to mind.” Morrigan suddenly turned on her heel to face Safir, twisting her fingers together thoughtfully. “Considering our circumstances, however, we should not dawdle. I have given thought to where we should begin our journey to the mountain pass. Should your friends not wish to join us, I have unlocked a number of eluvians that could take them most anywhere.”

“Is everyone ready to leave?” Safir wondered. For her own part, her rucksack was packed and ready to go.

“Aside from the map, I believe they are quite prepared. As for me, I travel very light.”

“Okay. I’ll go make sure they’re ready to leave. Then you can lead the way.”

Safir returned to Finn and Ariane, who had progressed from vicious argument to aggressive silence. Finn stood with his back to the Ariane and his arms crossed. Meanwhile, the Dalish busied herself by angrily stuffing as many of her belongings into her pack as possible.

“You guys given any thought to where you might want to go from here?”

Finn whipped around to answer at once, eyes wide with surprise. “Well, we’re not going to stop being friends over one small argument, if that’s what you’re wondering. Leastways, I _hope_ not!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Safir clarified, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and call him an idiot. “I mean, where do you want to go, physically?”

“You mean… we’re not…”

“I thought we were going with you, Safir,” finished Ariane, standing up from her bag. “You don’t think we’re just leaving, do you?”

Safir bit her cheek, eyes flitting back and forth to avoid making contact with theirs. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she demanded, brows knit as though Safir’s concern had been an insult. “We’ve been with you since the beginning!”

“Not the beginning, technically,” Safir argued, correcting Ariane with a skyward finger. “I needed you guys to help me find Morrigan, and now I’ve found her. More importantly, no one’s been over the Hunterhorns in a thousand years. We have no idea what’s on the other side, and—”

“And that is precisely why we should be going with you!” Finn added, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ariane. “You can’t seriously think you would be _safer_ on your own, can you?”

“No, but my safety isn’t a priority.” Hands on her hips, she responded to the concern on their faces with a sigh and blunt clarification. “If I don’t find this cure, I’m as good as dead anyway. If I die trying to find it, then so be it. At least I won’t have to face the calling. You two have lives to get back to, and they don’t hinge on crossing a mountain range and hoping that whatever’s on the other side doesn’t kill you.”

“I wish I could argue with that,” Finn lamented, pursing his lips. “But you’re right.”

“Of course I am. Besides, what would your parents have to say? Shouldn’t you have sent them a letter by now?”

“Maker’s breath, I _knew_ I was forgetting something!” he gasped, palming his forehead and groaning as loudly as he could manage. “Oh, they’re likely to send more men after me for this…”

“You’re really going to do this all by yourself, then?” Ariane asked, her arms crossed but her voice limp with resignation. Safir only nodded her confirmation. “Then I wish you the best of luck. I’m glad I could come this far.”

“So, if we’re done being dramatic, do you think we can get back to the point?” Safir scolded. “Where do you want to go? Morrigan says she’s unlocked enough eluvians to take you most places in Thedas.”

“Well, if this is to be the end, we might as well have ourselves a bit of an adventure, don’t you think, Ariane? Have you ever been to Antiva?”

The Dalish shook her head no.

“I have,” Safir answered. “It’s nice. I wasn’t really in the mood for tourism when I was there, but it’s… nice.”

“Then it’s settled! We’ll go to Antiva.”

# ***

After hours of hiking, Morrigan had finally led them into a vast circular hollow surrounded on all sides by the decaying and warped remains of what looked to be a castle in its better days. The stone walls with their sharp battlements seemed to lean inwards, looming over the court like hungry birds observing their prey. Inside the court were a number of trees, both real and sculpted, which were scattered haphazardly in the foggy space between the buildings. Littering the yard in whatever space was not occupied by the trees were eluvians beyond counting, some intact and others not. Morrigan wordlessly sidled through the space until she stood before a mirror with pulsing green vines growing along its frame and pink flower petals dusting the floor at its foot. Raising her arms, she commanded it to open, bathing in the shimmering blue light that sprung forth upon its activation.

“This portal will take you to a small grove some miles south of Rialto,” she explained, gesturing for Finn and Ariane to enter. “Go as you please. I will close and lock it behind you.”

Ariane seemed hesitant to go through, twiddling her thumbs and swiveling around as if trying to absorb every detail of her environment. “This place is incredible. It’s a shame to leave it.”

“Yes, well, ‘tis not an option to stay forever. The Crossroads are not like the waking world, not entirely.” Morrigan’s words carried the weight of a warning, her voice low and ominous. “It is faded. Remain here too long, and you as well will become faded.”

“I guess it’s time to go, then,” she accepted. Turning to face Safir, she offered a single nod as a farewell. Safir returned the gesture, seeing in the other elf’s eyes the words she could not speak.

“Take care of Finn, will you?” she asked, a smile on her lips. “Maker knows he needs it.”

“You have my word,” Ariane laughed. “Good luck, Safir. If you ever need us again, or even if you don’t, just… It’ll be good to see you again.”

With a clumsy grin, Ariane was through the portal and the mage’s turn had come. Safir approached him with an open hand, awkwardly pausing before it reached his shoulder. Hesitating a spare moment, she closed it into a fist and lightly hit his arm.

“Oh, I’ll miss you too, Safir!” he whined, wrapping her in an unbidden hug. 

Laughing, she returned it with only one arm and gave him a gentle push in the direction of the mirror. “Go on, then.”

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” he ordered, turning around one last time before stepping through the eluvian.

“If I die, you’ll be the first to know,” she said, squaring her shoulders with his. “Oh, and Finn? Don’t be dense. Pay attention to Ariane every now and then.”

“What does that mean?”

“She _likes_ you, you idiot.”

Finn’s cheeks flushed scarlet as his expression rapidly cycled through confusion and realization, his mouth agape and his eyes like twin moons. Before he could say a word, she pushed him through and in another moment Morrigan had closed the way behind him.

“And then there were two,” Safir sighed.

“Come then,” Morrigan bade her, sauntering off and weaving her way through the maze of mirrors and trees. “Our destination lies this way, and we should not tarry.”

She led the way through the courtyard until she reached another eluvian standing in the middle of a patch of muddy ground and leaning to one side as a result. With a lazy gesture, Morrigan activated the mirror and painted the space before it with a pale green aura. 

“After you,” she insisted, sweeping an open palm to invite Safir forward.

Squaring herself with the eluvian, Safir steadied her breath and marched forward. She slipped through the thin barrier in an instant and found herself immersed in the humidity and warmth of a gloomy swamp with no visible landmarks and no discernible trail. All she could see in any direction was an endless array of willows and oaks rooted in mud or water. Her nose wrinkled against the musty dampness of the air, which was alive with the chirps and calls of the creatures that called this bog home. Her first steps forward fell with a solidity and weight that had become unfamiliar in the short time she’d spent in the Crossroads and reminded her body that it was real.

The eluvian hummed behind her as Morrigan passed through it. Pausing only to shut the portal, the witch hiked along at once, disappearing into the trees ahead and forcing Safir to catch her up. Together, they wove a serpentine path through the thickets and brambles that apparently conquered every spare patch of dirt the swamp had to offer. 

Staring into the boughs of the moss-covered trees, Safir made out what she could of the clouded sky and gave some thought to her surroundings. “Where exactly is this? Are we in the Korcari Wilds again?” she asked, ducking underneath a low, thorny branch.

“These are the Nahashin Marshes of Orlais,” Morrigan corrected her, “though they are remarkably similar. ‘Twas the closest my eluvians could take us to your present goal.”

“Excellent. And speaking of my goal, do you know where you’re going?”

“Yes. We approach a small clearing that begins a trail out of the swamp.” Morrigan sped along ahead of Safir as though navigating the thick underbrush was as simple as breathing. “We will travel north, to Nevarra, and make our way west through the Blasted Hills.”

Before long, the marsh had left its indelible mark on Safir’s armor, scratching the metal of her bracers and shinguards and even poking holes into some of the thinner bits of leather she wore. Her face, much to her dismay, fared little better. Stray branches and thorns and even some stinging bugs clawed at her cheeks and forehead; more than once she had to wipe droplets of blood off her face and risk staining the matted linen sleeves that clung to her like a second skin. Few people in Thedas had love for the Korcari Wilds, but like everything else Orlesian, the Nahashin Marshes were worse in every conceivable way.

Still struggling to keep pace with the witch, Safir forced her way between a pair of shrubs that Morrigan had somehow slipped through with ease, earning a few more blemishes on her gear. On the other side, standing patiently with her hands clasped together, Morrigan welcomed her into the clearing she’d promised her. Somehow, despite showing a considerable amount of skin, she was completely unscathed.

“You don’t have a scratch on you!” Safir panted, doubling over and begging the Maker for the path ahead to be easier traveled. “How is that even possible?”

“Much practice,” Morrigan chuckled, running her hand down the smooth, spotless skin of her right arm. “I did grow up in a swamp not very unlike this one, after all. The path we seek is very close. If we keep to a quick pace, we should be out of the Marshes in two days.”

“ _Two days_?! Can’t you just, I don’t know… turn into a dragon and fly us out of here?”

“‘Tis a most alluring prospect, but alas, I lack the knowledge to transform into such a beast.”

“All that important research and exploration and you can’t even manage to turn into a measly dragon?” Safir objected, half tempted to raze the entire swamp. “What about a giant bird? I’d take a giant bird, honest. Anything so we don’t have to trudge through this boil on the Maker’s ass.”

“Those were my mother’s tricks, I’m afraid,” Morrigan sighed, a bitter sharpness hanging onto her words. “My skill as a shapechanger is rather more limited.”

Morrigan led the way into a dirt path that had been carved through the Marshes long ago, if the thick canopy that covered it like the ceiling of a tunnel was anything to go by. The more open air provided some respite from the mosquitos that haunted them earlier, but not a complete one.

“Where have you been all this time, anyway?” Safir wondered, finally venturing to ask a question years in the making. “What have you been doing, or learning?”

“I have learned much in the years since we last met. I have traveled to many places, seen many things, and taken what actions I could to remain discreet.” Spotted patches of light raced down Morrigan’s figure as she made her way through the hall of trees, never large enough to illuminate her entirely. “‘Twas quite early on in my explorations of the Crossroads that I found the elven writing that led us here, in fact.”

“I thought you said you found them in the Anderfels,” Safir said, remembering the note that had come with the rolled up parchment. 

“I did… in a manner of speaking, anyway.” Morrigan paused, cocking her head slightly but not turning to face Safir. “Much like the Fade, the Crossroads is a reflection of the physical space around it. When I found the clues, I had entered through an eluvian in the High Reaches, near the border with Tevinter.”

“Okay. And what about after the Wastes?” Safir pressed. “Where did you go?”

“I traveled the Crossroads for a time, looking for other eluvians to open. Some were more difficult to unlock than others.”

“What has unlocking all these mirrors gained you? I mean, that can’t be the only thing you’ve been doing in all these years, can it?”

“Change is coming to the world, Safir. Its approach is quick. Preparations,” Morrigan breathed, slowing the pace of her words, “must be made.”

Safir rolled her shoulders in frustration, abandoning the line of questioning entirely as the witch had made it quite clear she was uninterested in explaining herself.

“I guess you want to know what I’ve been doing, then?” she asked, hoping to get her own inevitable interrogation over with.

“Your Dalish friend has already informed me of that,” Morrigan admitted, bowing her head. “I did not wish to mention it.”

“So she told you about the forest?”

“Indeed. ‘Tis unfortunate, but it pleases me to see that you are well, after all.”

_That I’m well?_ Safir thought, stopping in her tracks as a shard of ice burst in her heart. With wet eyes she scanned the dirt ahead of her and fought to contain the cry that threatened to break from her throat. 

“You think I’m _well_?” she creaked, her raspy voice broken into shudders.

The witch, now many feet ahead, noticed only then that Safir had stopped walking. “What troubles you?”

“How could you just leave me there?” Safir asked, the words falling limply from her lips.

“I did not wish to,” the witch answered, her voice softened by concern, “but I had little choice. I had my own duties which I could not forsake.”

“You saw me, you saw how much I _needed_ you. And you just left. Like it was nothing.”

“Do not fool yourself,” the witch warned. “‘Twas difficult for me as well.”

“Oh, was it? I’m sure sorry to hear that. I didn’t realize how hard it must have been for you. But which one of us really had it worse, hm? Which one of us was it that spent years by herself in a forest waiting to _die_ because of what happened at that eluvian?!”

“I… I did not know the extent of your—”

“ _Answer_ me!”

Breath shook noisily through gritted teeth as Safir squared off against the witch, her hands balled tightly into white, trembling fists. Morrigan’s eyes blinked repeatedly as she slunk backwards into the shadow of a dying willow.

“Safir, you must know that I am sorry. I am _desperately_ sorry, my sister.”

“Yeah… a whole lot of good that ‘sorry’ does me now.” With a final, labored sigh, Safir calmed herself and allowed the shock of anger to pass into bitterness. “And calling me sister is a cheap game, even for you. It might have worked, back when it was actually true.”

“Do not say such things. I have never stopped being your sister, nor you mine.”

“Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing that.”

Wordlessly, Safir adjusted the weight of her backpack on her shoulder and beat on down the path, colliding with the witch at the shoulder as she passed her.

“Must I beg for your forgiveness?” Morrigan called after her. “You should know better than to expect such indignity of me.”

“Yeah, right?” Safir mocked, still dragging herself along the trail. “Maker forbid the Witch of the Wilds sacrifices some dignity.”

“Stop this,” Morrigan demanded, her voice now much closer behind. “I have said that I am sorry. I carry deep regret over our parting. That should be enough for you to end this hostility.”

“You can’t really think it’s your place to decide that, can you? After what I’ve been through?”

“You act as though your troubles are entirely of my making.”

“Are you suggesting that they’re not?” Safir whipped around, drilling into the witch’s golden eyes with her own.

“I am _telling_ you so! ‘Twas not I who led you to that forest, so do not dare pretend that you are blameless.” The severity of Morrigan’s features waned in regret almost as soon as she’d spoken the words. She continued more quietly, but no less stern. “I have much sympathy for you, Safir, but I will not allow you to insult me so.”

“Oh, _you’re_ insulted, are you? How do you think I feel?” Safir begged, straining her lungs to steady themselves. “Not only does my best friend in the world abandon me— _twice!_ —but now she won’t even do me the kindness of telling me why she did it!”

“Please do not think that of me, Safir. Nothing of what I have done was ever meant to harm you.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for being skeptical. You seriously haven’t done a thing to hurt me?”

“Not once. I have precious few friends, Safir, and none whom I treasure as much as you.”

“It really doesn’t feel that way, Morrigan,” she argued, knitting her brows and staring into the trees. “What was so important seven years ago that you couldn’t spare a moment to be there for me when I needed you to be?”

“There are things happening beyond our ability to control,” Morrigan explained, turning back and forth as she spoke hurriedly. “I cannot sit idly by and allow them to happen unobserved! There is simply too much at stake.”

Safir shut her eyes forcefully, her lungs brimming with fire.

“Why, then, if it’s so fucking important, can’t you just tell me what the fuck it is that’s going on?!”

“Because I do not _know_!” Morrigan shouted, finally confirming Safir’s suspicions. Her shoulders fell with her head into a slump as she made a half turn to hide her shame. “I have searched far and wide and discovered many fascinating secrets of this world. And yet, none of it brings me any closer to understanding the change that is to come. Does it please you to hear this truth?”

Safir allowed her rucksack to slip from her shoulder to the ground, now full of exhausted resignation. At length, she sighed her answer.

“Look at me, Morrigan. Nothing pleases me anymore.” 

Morrigan broke from her own troubles and focused again on Safir, her eyes sitting pensively underneath sullen brows. She closed the distance between them and pressed her hands to Safir’s shoulders, leaning slightly to level their eyes with one another. Safir caught the tears welling under her yellow irises and failed to stop her own lips from trembling as she stood face to face with her sister. Then Morrigan closed the hug, clutching Safir tightly and cradling her head.

Unable to resist for very long, Safir pressed herself further into the embrace, her chest pulsing with sorrow and relief as she let her tears fall freely to stain the dark maroon of Morrigan’s robes. She sobbed even as she clung to her sister, standing with her under the weeping boughs until her arms lost their strength.


	13. A Ride to the Airport

_She wandered through the cave on borrowed strength, her unsteady legs begging for a reprieve as she forced them to bear her ever deeper into the rocky tunnel. There was no way of knowing how much further she would go, nor even how long she’d already been here; her best guess was forever. An eternity spent walking with no hope of escape, one reluctant step after the other into a featureless hole in the earth._

_The space ahead, normally a void of black, glowed now with a slight purple tinge. Inspired by the change, she sped her progress, her legs withdrawing their objections. On she went, and with each step forward the intensity of the purple glow increased until its source emerged at last from the darkness. A lone eluvian standing in the distance under a domed ceiling of smooth stone. At its foot, a Witch of the Wilds. The robed woman hesitated before the mirror, glancing between it and her as the distance shrunk between them. She approached the eluvian carefully, hoping not to provoke the other woman into using it. They were close now, only a few steps away from one another. Extending a hand, she hoped to draw the witch away from the portal. Her arm hung still in the space between them until, with a small grin, the witch backed away and entered the waiting mirror._

_She attempted to follow but found the way closed, her fingers dragging across smooth glass. Her head sunk as she tightly grasped the frame. Then, following it, she fell to her knees when the mirror vanished in a puff of smoke without so much as a pile of dust on the cave floor to show that it was ever there at all. Looking up revealed that the path continued, and so she followed it, once again treading slowly through a gloomy, lightless tunnel._

_Then returned the purple light, and after following it for some time, she came upon another eluvian, another witch at its foot. She approached as before, if not a little more slowly, but still the witch departed. And still the eluvian vanished. Again and again she came upon this scene, the robed woman always just within reach before making her escape. Again and again this process repeated itself, the protestations of her strained muscles becoming more difficult to ignore with each run of the cycle. She caught up with the witch times beyond counting but never managed as much as a greeting before the witch abandoned her again. Each repetition ended in precisely the same way, with the eluvian disappearing into thin air and revealing a path ahead. Now, waiting for the mirror before her to fade away, she found herself instead basking in its purple glow and feeling its low hum in her chest._

_Seizing the opportunity, she ran through the still active portal, hoping at last to follow the witch to the other side. Rather than find herself with company, though, she found herself staring into a pitch dark void, unable to see even the rock beneath her feet. Turning around, she stared into the eluvian’s rippling surface and thought to return. Just then, a quiet whisper called to her from behind, almost like a cry for help. She turned to meet the source of this call only to peer through the same impenetrable blackness as before. And now the eluvian was gone. Somewhere in the invisible distance, both close and far, the call resumed._

Safir awoke under a canopy of willows amid a cacophony of animal calls; birds, bugs, and whatever else called the Nahashin Marshes home added their voices to this dissonant choir. Hidden somewhere among their cries was the song of the Old Gods, just on the edge of hearing.

The morning was humid and miserable, just as the day had been. She sat up in her tent, a task made easier by the fact that she’d slept on top of her bedroll rather than inside it. Outside, the crackling of a nearby campfire pierced the dense canvas, a welcome addition to the loud rumbling of her gut. Pushing aside the flaps, she poked her head out to learn whether the fire was made for the purpose of cooking a meal. Luckily, she found Morrigan laboring over a kettle, watching its contents closely as she stirred them. 

“What’s for breakfast?” Safir asked, wrinkling her nose in an attempt to guess at the answer.

“‘Tis probably best if I do not tell you,” Morrigan admitted, cocking her head to one side. “The creatures that dwell here do not inspire a great appetite.”

“How reassuring. Does it at least taste good?”

“It should,” Morrigan guessed, shrugging over the pot. “I have added many spices and herbs. With luck, they will mask any unfortunate flavors the meat may have.”

“Well, food’s food, I guess,” Safir mumbled as she nervously crawled out of her tent. Stretching her muscles as she approached, she was made acutely aware of just how foul her shirt smelled. The scents of sweat and humidity clung to the linen almost as tightly as the linen clung to her skin. “How much longer do we have to be in this swamp for?”

“If you apply yourself as rigorously to walking as you do to complaining,” quipped Morrigan, “we will be clear of the Marshes in no time at all. Keeping to yesterday’s pace, we likely have another five hours of walking ahead of us before the landscape changes much.”

“Five hours,” Safir breathed, whispering to herself. “Just five more hours, Safir. You can do this.”

“Do you truly find it so taxing to travel in this land? I do not find it comfortable by any stretch, but your miserable attitude seems most unnecessary.”

“Yeah, well, you’re wearing a loose fitting hood and a skirt. All you have to worry about is the mosquitos, and most of them are probably too scared of you to try biting. I, on the other hand,” she paused, sweeping her hands across her body, “am covered head to toe in leather, metal, and thick clothes. It’s a wonder I haven’t been baked alive yet.”

“True… I do not envy your choice of outfit.”

Safir stood across from Morrigan and stared down into the pot that hung over a crackling fire, prospecting its contents for any sign of what kind of animal she was expected to eat. “How much longer until this is ready? I’m famished.”

“I can serve it now, if you like,” Morrigan suggested, pointing to the ground at Safir’s feet where she’d stacked a pair of bronze bowls. “Truth be told, I have not yet served it because I am hesitant to taste it. Whatever creature I killed, I have not eaten it before.”

“Do you even know if it’s safe to eat?” Safir wondered, looking down her nose at the stew as she handed the bowls to Morrigan.

“No,” the witch replied at once, ladling some of the stew into a bowl and handing it to Safir. “Eat up, quickly.”

Sitting down some distance from the fire, Safir poked at her stew a while before endeavoring to try a piece of meat. Its rubbery texture took getting used to, but the taste was not bad at all. In any event, ravenous hunger was more than enough justification for going through the effort of chewing it. Minutes passed with little conversation as she and Morrigan worked through their meals, every now and then wincing as their teeth caught on a scale or stray bone. Before long, the two bowls sat empty, and the two women silent.

“I’m having some odd dreams,” Safir confessed, disturbing the peace and quiet. Morrigan looked up in an instant, her lips slightly parted and her eyes sharply focused.

“What kind of dreams?” she demanded, her voice faltering just a touch. “Warden dreams?”

“I don’t know. They’re not normal dreams, but I don’t know if they’re… _those_ dreams.” Safir met Morrigan’s gaze stoically, expressing with a blank stare what hurried breaths and a trembling hand normally would. “I had one a long time ago, when I was still looking for Finn in West Hill. And another one last night.”

“What do you see in these dreams?”

“In the first one, it was like the Battle of Denerim all over again. I was on top of Fort Drakon. Alistair was there. So… so was the archdemon.” Safir clenched her jaw, stemming the flow of icy tears she felt welling in her chest. “I wanted to stop him from… from killing it. But I was tied to a chair, and I had to watch him. Watch him die. Again. And after it was done there was just blackness, and I couldn’t feel a thing, or see a thing, or even smell a thing. All I heard was the song of the Old Gods calling out to me from the void.”

“And the second dream?” Morrigan asked, straining herself to sound sympathetic. “What was it like?”

“Pretty similar. I saw you in front of an eluvian. Every time I got close you both vanished and I had to keep walking until I found you again. I don’t even remember how many times it happened before I was finally able to go into the mirror behind you. And then there was nothing again. Blackness, just like before, and there was the song.

“No one ever told me what the dreams would actually be like when my turn to hear the calling came,” Safir admitted, fretfully interlocking her fingers. “I don’t know if this is it, but I think I’m running out of time.”

“So it would seem, but perhaps these dreams are not as foreboding as they appear. They could simply be arising from stress, could they not?” Morrigan hesitated on her next thought, rubbing her thumbs against one another. “The scenes you have described to me were not the most…”

“They were the shittiest times of my life.”

“Yes,” agreed Morrigan after clearing her throat. “That is a concise way of putting it. The first dream occurred when you were alone, setting out on a journey to cure yourself of the fate Alistair left you with. And as for the second, I believe the cause is quite clear.”

“I hope you’re right, Morrigan. If you’re not, I might not have enough time to finish this before I have to kill myself.”

“Then we should move quickly,” the witch decided, rising from her seat and snuffing out the fire. “Come, let us not tarry here any longer. If you are to be cured of this taint before it is too late, we must be swift.”

“And again, I find myself wondering if you really can’t turn into a giant bird,” Safir complained, lumbering toward her tent to begin packing it up. “Maybe you could fly me over the mountains!”

“Your unwillingness to traverse this marsh is not my responsibility!” Morrigan fought back indignantly. “‘Tis not my fault, either, that my mother did not choose to teach me that particular spell.”

“Isn’t it just like changing into a raven, but, you know… bigger?”

“Alas, magic does not work that way. Whatever knowledge enabled Flemeth to turn into so large a bird was not shared with me. And in any event, she is impossible to contact now, so I would caution against getting your hopes up that I might learn.”

“Fine,” Safir groaned, accepting her fate at last and miserably stuffing her belongings into her roadworn rucksack. “Let’s just get this over with, then.”

After unmaking the rest of the camp and begrudgingly donning her armor, Safir followed Morrigan back on the trail through the marshes, still surrounded on either side by drooping willows that looked almost as unhappy to be there as she was. Never before had she been so disturbed by the average walking speed of elves and humans. Every now and then, she peeled her sweat-drenched shirt off of her skin only for it to stick back on, reminding herself each time this happened that the end was that much closer at hand.

Somehow, by some miracle, Safir made it to that end in one piece, overjoyed at the prospect of leaving the Nahashin Marshes and never returning. As the land dried under her feet and the trees thinned out around her, however, she learned that one horror would soon be replaced by another. The landscape she had to cross now, more than any other, could truly be said to stretch out before her; a featureless expanse of tall grass and scrub lay at her feet, continuing on for miles and failing to reach the horizon only because of the presence in the distant fog of the Blasted Hills. Safir’s boots felt unbearably heavy as she dragged them away from the bog and into the plain. Once upon a time she would have laughed at the prospect of actually missing Ferelden. Now, standing before a vacuous piece of hell on the border between Orlais and Nevarra, she became intimately familiar with the fact that Thedas came equipped with infinite means of making her miserable.

“How certain are you that you don’t have any eluvians closer to the mountains than the one we used?” she asked Morrigan, her morale plunging by the second.

“As certain as is possible,” the witch replied curtly, quickening her pace. “Your whining gets you nowhere. The more you bemoan this journey, the longer it shall feel.”

“In my head, I know you’re right,” Safir agreed, contemplating the number of steps she’d have to take before the land got any more interesting. “But I look at this big, empty piece of Fuck You and I think to myself, maybe the calling’s not so bad after all. Maybe I should just go home.”

Morrigan dipped her head in a brief chuckle. “You may grouse if it pleases you, but in your heart you know you will stop at nothing to achieve your goal. Your protestations, amusing though they are, are hollow. So why insist upon making them?”

“Well, I don’t know if you can tell, Morrigan, but being optimistic isn’t something that comes naturally to me,” Safir explained. “I stopped expecting things to go well a long time ago. Complaining’s sort of all I have left.”

“Very well,” Morrigan ceded, though her tone was laced with unspoken thoughts.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just spit it out.”

“Fine, then. I shall ‘spit it out.'” Morrigan collected herself quickly, marching as ever into the plains. “We have many long hours of walking ahead of us before we even reach the Blasted Hills, and from there it will still be a good deal longer until we stand in the shadow of the Hunterhorn Mountains. The land we must cross is as bereft of life as it is of elevation. True, our camp will not be sheltered, but neither will we require shelter. Rather than be surprised if nothing goes wrong on our way to the Hills, I will be shocked if anything happens at all.”

“What’s your point, exactly?”

“My point,” Morrigan repeated, her focus still on the path forward, “is that we will be stuck in this land for quite some time and have very little with which to entertain ourselves. Difficult though it may be to believe, I do not wish to spend that time listening to your petty, feeble quibbling.”

Safir expelled a quick rush of air from her lungs as she considered Morrigan’s criticism, biting her cheek and raising her eyebrows while weighing her remaining conversational options.

“So, what, are we supposed to just talk about our feelings and shit? That’s weird.”

“Please do not make me regret aiding you.”

Noting Morrigan’s impatience with her, Safir decided against responding at all and instead attempted to be quiet for as long as possible, arbitrarily challenging herself by palming the horizon to stay motivated. Reaching her first goal of half an hour, she kept silent until a full hour had passed. From there, she went to two hours, and from there, three. Aside from one minor temptation to complain about an itch on her lower back, she had managed quite easily not to speak another word before the sun began to set, surprising even herself with her endurance and discipline. She shuddered to imagine what thoughts might have kept Morrigan quiet for just as long. Setting camp in such a flat environment proved more difficult than expected, as the land provided no natural campsites. This made pitching her tent feel aimless and uncomfortably detached; the spot she chose to place it made no difference, and that made all the difference.

The following day consisted of a similarly boring hike across similarly boring lands with a similarly boring view ahead of them. Thankfully, it ended with setting camp among the sparse greenery that topped one of the hills that gave the region one half of its name. Why the hills were considered to be blasted remained a mystery, however. Another sunrise saw them navigating the peaks and valleys of a landscape far more interesting to traverse than the one that had preceded it. More importantly, their path had veered from north to west, placing the distant foothills of the Hunterhorns squarely on the forward horizon. The enormous range dwarfed even the Frostbacks. It was taller, steeper, and more imposing than any map could ever hope to describe. From so many miles away, the Hunterhorns seemed an impenetrable wall intolerant even of the mere notion of being scaled.

“How am I supposed to climb _that_?” Safir worried aloud, both hands raised in defeat. From her vantage at the top of a ridge, even the foothills threatened to be a challenging hike. “There’s no way I can climb _that_.” 

“‘Tis most fortunate, then, that you do not have to climb it.”

Safir whipped around to face Morrigan, brows and nostrils flared. “What do you mean? The pass isn’t underground, is it?”

Morrigan paused in thought, her yellow eyes gleaming as they swished back and forth. “The dwarven city of Kal-Sharok is not far from here,” she finally spoke, her voice low and grainy. “‘Tis possible that a path exists through the Deep Roads that could take you underneath the mountains, rather than across.”

“Yeah. Fuck that. I’m not going through the Deep Roads.”

“You are lucky once more; that is not what I was referring to initially, though it is an interesting prospect. Perhaps one I will investigate myself.” Passing Safir and pointing lazily towards the mountains, Morrigan continued, “That appears to be an insurmountable obstacle, but I assure you that this is not so.”

“Yeah, I know. The first Wardens crossed it somehow, and they weren’t traveling light.”

“True, but irrelevant,” Morrigan dismissed, motioning for Safir to hush and listen. “What I mean is this: that slope, steep as it is, is no obstacle. The pass through the mountains will guide you past it, but it is very well hidden.”

“How well hidden are we talking, here?” Safir asked, squinting into the distance. “I’ll be able to find it, right?”

“One would hope.”

“One would _hope_?!”

“Do not soil yourself,” Morrigan laughed, “I am only teasing. Yes, you will find it. With my instruction, of course.”

“Maker’s ass, Morrigan,” gasped Safir, “you can’t just do that to me! It would mean I suffered through the festering ulcer that is the Nahashin Marshes for no good reason.”

“Your dislike of the natural world is most concerning, Safir. Perhaps we should return to the swamp that I may teach you to appreciate its charms.”

“Yes, let’s,” Safir mocked, rolling her eyes. “Right after I teach you to appreciate my knife in your ear.”

“How I’ve missed you, sister.”

“Yeah, yeah, feeling’s mutual. So, do you have any idea what I should expect when I cross the mountains?” Safir wondered, staring at the snow-capped peaks ahead.

“I know as much as you do about what lies beyond the Hunterhorns. I am sorry that I cannot help you more.”

“Alright, then let’s tally up what we do know,” Safir started, hooking her index fingers together. “We know the Wardens crossed with building materials, which means they must have been building something. We know they crossed during the First Blight. And that about does it. I’m just supposed to follow them over, armed with nothing but a few scraps of paper and some dragon blood, and hope I find out whatever the hell it was they were doing there?”

“Indeed, ‘tis as much of a plan as we are able to make for now,” Morrigan admitted, her tone somewhat deflated. “You will need to be careful. It may take days to reach your goal, or even weeks depending on what the terrain is like on the other side.”

“Right.” After a short stretch, Safir started along the ridge and ended the break. “You’ve been to lots of places, Morrigan. Any advice for exploring uncharted territory?”

“Hm, yes. Do not stray from your goal, for anything. You would do well to waste as little time as possible.” Morrigan’s words bore the cadence of a grave warning. “The vial of blood you carry… There is something I should have told you about it in the Crossroads, but I did not know if your companions could be trusted.”

“I don’t like the sound of this, Morrigan. What are you trying to say?”

“‘Tis not merely dragon’s blood, my sister. ‘Tis the blood of an Old God, uncorrupted.”

Safir stopped dead in her tracks only a short distance from where she’d begun leading the way down the hill, blinking aimlessly at the surrounding scrub. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. Can you say that one more time, please?”

“Do not act the fool,” Morrigan scolded, brushing shoulders with Safir as she passed her. “You know what you heard, and it is true.”

“Okay, but… the blood of an Old God?” Safir repeated. Even saying the words felt silly. “You’ve got to be joking. How did you even get it?”

“‘Twas not easy, but I did not collect it from the source, if that is your suspicion.” Morrigan dropped her voice furtively as she elaborated, making it clear enough that she would prefer not to explain herself. Somehow, given such unbelievable circumstances, Safir thought she might be better off not knowing. “How I got it matters little. What is important is that you now have a sample of something exceedingly rare, and the sooner you make use of it, the sooner that burden is lifted.”

“Old God blood,” Safir muttered, following Morrigan down the ridge. She was half tempted to pull the vial out from her pack, but the other half of her was afraid even to look at it for fear of breaking it. “I have Old God blood.”

“Yes, you have Old God blood. Do you also happen to have a point?”

“A point?” Safir questioned, trying and failing to quiet her mind. “My point is… I mean… what the fuck?”

“Is it really so difficult to believe?” Morrigan pressed her, turning a palm to the sky. “‘Tis only blood. All creatures have it, do they not?”

“Yeah, but not all creatures are ancient Tevinter gods.”

“True. Precious little remains of the Old Gods from before their imprisonment. But little is not equal to nothing. You would do well to remember that.”

Falling in line behind her sister, Safir did her best to put the vial out of her mind until it actually came time to use it. Doing so was difficult at first, but soon enough the effort of navigating the Blasted Hill’s crags and gorges managed to mask the shock. Hours of this slow, careful hiking brought them at last to the final stretch of smooth land that separated them from the Hunterhorns. A short way into the plain, with the Blasted Hills behind them and the daunting Hunterhorns before them, Morrigan stood in place and waited to be noticed. Fewer than ten paces later, Safir stopped as well.

“So this is it, then, is it?” she asked, still squaring off against the mountains.

“Indeed, I believe so,” Morrigan affirmed, drawing up next to her.

“This isn’t the _end_ end, though, right? I’ll still see you again?”

Morrigan gave her a weak smile as she placed a hand on Safir’s shoulder. “I have enjoyed our time together very much, my friend. We shall never again be so long without one another, this I promise you.”

“How’s that? You’re already leaving. How will I find you again if I need you?”

“Give me your hand,” the witch ordered, holding her own closed fist aloft between them. The moment Safir extended an open palm, Morrigan clasped it with both hands. Safir felt her press a small stone into her palm. “I may not always be able to visit, but I will always make sure that you know where I am, should you wish to.”

Safir held the rock up to inspect it. It was a dull white crystal, almost fully opaque, and tied to it was a loop of twine large enough to be worn around the neck. “Is this pebble supposed to mean something to me?”

“‘Tis a sending crystal, fool! Did you not wonder how it was that I found you so quickly when you entered the Crossroads?”

“Shit, now that you mention it, that was pretty convenient timing.”

“‘Twas not mere coincidence,” Morrigan chided. “I have hidden modified sending crystals at the feet of most of my eluvians to alert me of dangerous intruders.”

“Right. How exactly is an ugly rock supposed to alert you of danger?”

“That is what a sending crystal is for. It allows us to communicate instantaneously across any distance, and even across different realms. I was not even in the Crossroads when I learned of your entrance.” Morrigan guided Safir’s palm to close over the crystal as she explained. “Each crystal has a sister. So long as the crystal is in contact with your skin, you will understand my messages.”

“And if I want to say something to you?”

“Then simply speak into your crystal. I will hear.”

Safir turned the stone over in her fingers, studying its edges and struggling to imagine it as a tool she could use to contact someone miles away.

“I cannot remain here long,” Morrigan reminded her.

“So, this is it?”

Morrigan only nodded. “I have never wished to part from you, my sister. I still have my duties, but I will not hesitate to aid you if you require it.”

Turning to face the mountains again, Safir measured the intervening distance with a weather eye, guessing at how long the solitary journey would be. Then, returning her attention to Morrigan, she let one deep breath in and out again. Extending her arms, she embraced her sister mournfully and searched for the strength to give her a proper farewell.

“I love you, Morrigan,” she whispered over her shoulder.

“And I you, Safir. Be well.”

In a brief puff of smoke Morrigan the woman was gone, replaced by a raven flying swiftly to the eastward horizon. On the ground where she’d been standing lay a thick coat of what looked like druffalo fur, one last gift from Morrigan to help her on her way. Scooping it up, Safir watched the raven for a time before wearing the sending crystal around her neck and setting off on her hike to the mountains.

“And then there was one,” she sighed.


	14. They're Taking the Cure to Isengard

Slinging the heavy fur coat over her shoulder as it was too large to fit into her pack with the rest of her things, Safir marched into a field of brown scrub and weeds that stretched outward from the feet of the Hunterhorns. Up she went, slowly but steadily, and coming ever sharper into relief were the ridges and fissures that lined the range’s eastern slopes. On either side of her, jutting out from a shared point of origin straight ahead, two divergent ranges sheltered the field from the forest in the south and the Anderfels in the north, funneling her toward what looked like the steepest of the foothills. Before long the ground underfoot hardened as it bent further toward the sky, bearing her up into higher land and thinner air. All semblance of a border disappeared as she ventured closer to the mountain and became lost in a maze of smaller hills all stacked one on top of the other. Turning with a backward glance, she saw in the distance the scattered crowns of the Blasted Hills already far below her feet.

Upon facing the mountain again, it seemed a puzzle impossible to solve. Each way she looked, her eyes met only with more rock, more grass, more difficult terrain. The mountain was a wall that admitted of no entrance. How the Wardens managed to get this far was difficult enough to imagine without struggling to identify the path that Morrigan had mentioned. Now, standing among the maze of gnarled crags and hidden fissures, she felt the entire thing might have been a joke.

Safir shook the coat off of herself and set her rucksack on the ground at her feet. Making a half turn, she lowered herself next to it and rested with her elbows on her knees and her eyes casting out over the rest of Thedas. Sighing as the weight of her isolation and and cluelessness set in, she fell onto her back and stared unblinking at the dimming sky.

“Fuck.”

The word bounced off of the nearest ridges, somehow audible amid the coursing mountain winds, and echoed in her ears almost as if the mountain itself were asking for clarification. Equal parts amused and intrigued by the echo, Safir sat up and swept her eyes back and forth across the mountainside. “Fuck!” she repeated loudly, hoping for a louder response.

But there was no response. Only the stirring of the wind, a persistent sense of a question being asked, and a bothersome weight slung around her neck. The moment she focused her attention on it, the stone hanging between her breasts seemed to rattle and pull against the twine by which it hung. Its movement was erratic and quick, and somehow curious. Clasping it tightly in her fingers, she felt its jostling pulse in perfect clarity. It warmed and cooled at odd intervals and somehow, through this series of tactile cues, it made its inquisitive meaning known. 

_What is wrong?_ the stone asked, though it made no sound.

“Mo—Morrigan? Is that you?” Safir whispered, holding the crystal just before her lips.

Something in the stone’s response told her it was irritable, and she could almost see the witch’s hands placed squarely on her hips. _Who else might it be? Are you expecting word from another who holds such a crystal? They are quite rare, if you had not realized it._

“Yeah, of course I fucking realized it, I’m not an idiot,” Safir complained, knitting her angry brows at the stone and pausing to reflect on the absurdity of that action. “But I can’t hear you.”

_You are not supposed to_ , the stone revealed, fighting back against her anger with devastating indifference. 

“You don’t think you could have mentioned that sooner?”

The crystal shook quizzically, a sudden rush of heat within it standing in for Morrigan’s sense of cool superiority. _What difference would that have made?_

“I wouldn’t have spent half a minute thinking the mountain was talking to me, for a start,” Safir answered. Looking back out over the hilltops on the horizon, she shook her head and wondered if that, too, would be clear to Morrigan.

_There are some sending crystals that can reproduce speech, but I find it is safer to use one without that function._ Amazingly, the stone managed to convey a pause with an extended pulse. _You were distressed earlier. What is wrong?_

“What is wrong is that I’m fucking lost,” Safir snapped, ripping a clump of wiry brown grass away from its roots. “I haven’t found the Wardens’ secret passage yet and it’s getting dark.”

The crystal pulsed quickly as if to laugh at her ignorance. _Of course you have not found it. I have not yet told you where to look._

“And again, you couldn’t have told me that before?”

A single, short hop told her that Morrigan had shrugged. _This is a good deal more entertaining, is it not?_

“That’s not the word I’d use. Frustrating. Tedious. Pointless,” Safir listed, hoping that the crystal would do justice to her annoyed glare. “Those are all words I’d be more likely to use.”

_Then you lack imagination_ , the stone drummed. Holding it tightly, Safir turned around as if possessed by a sudden compulsion to study the ridge closest to her. It was topped with a single outcrop of jagged brown stone. _That slope is not as it seems. Walk along its base to the right and you shall see it for what it truly is: one rock face hiding behind another. Go to the place between the faces and there you will find the entrance to the secret path._

“Just… to the right? It’s that easy?”

_Yes. I can tell you no more, for I do not know more._

“I’ll check it out,” Safir accepted, rising to her feet and making for the hidden gap between the ridges. “Thanks, Morrigan.”

The crystal did not react, though her fingers were wrapped around it still. At length, its surface cooled slightly but did not vibrate at all. _I cannot speak longer. You will have to continue on your own for some days. See this through, my sister, and we shall meet again in time._

All activity within the crystal ceased in an instant and it was once more just a simple rock, utterly without capacity for talking. Luckily, Morrigan’s knowledge paid off. Only a few minute’s walk from where she’d stopped to rest, the entrance came into view at last, just as the sun began to disappear behind the peaks towering above. Making a quick return journey to collect her things, Safir set quickly off toward the entrance, determined to make camp there.

Whenever the passage was carved, its creators took great advantage of its hidden entrance, waiting until the smaller of the two ridges could conceal an entire war camp before even bringing their pickaxes to bear on the ground to flatten the way forward. There, the pass was narrow, barely wide enough for even a single carriage to enter, though four men could walk through comfortably. On either side the high walls provided by the mountain, carved into the rock as if by a butcher’s rough hand, protected any in the path from unfriendly eyes in the east. Some distance ahead, the pass rounded a corner and veered to the right, where presumably it began a steep ascent to the mountaintops. Though eager to follow it there and see herself across, the growing of her shadow made a rather compelling case for staying put and making camp. Collecting what firewood she could from the few hardy bushes that managed to grow here, she lit a fire and waited for night to fall before heading inside her tent.

Ruffling through her backpack in the fading and flickering light of the fire outside, she withdrew the vial of blood she now knew to belong to an Old God. She turned the vial over and over again in her fingers, handling it gingerly in fear of breaking it. The blood still swished around freely inside the vial despite its many years; this must have been something to do with the Old Gods’ powers. She wondered which of the ancient dragons the blood came from and whether its archdemon form had already been slain. Perhaps its source lay slumbering still beneath Thedas. At length she finally put the vial down and stowed it once more among the rest of her belongings before shutting her eyes.

Morning brought with it a sharp chill in the air. Safir awoke curled up inside of her bedroll with her arms wrapped tightly round one another. Rising slowly and rubbing her eyes, she pushed aside a tent flap and squinted into the bright yellow dawn shining on the mountainside dead ahead. The ridge to her right blocked the sun out for two hundred yards; being protected from eastern eyes meant being deprived of a proper sunrise. Safir brought her breakfast with her into the brilliant light of the exposed part of the mountain, gazing out at the whole of Thedas as she stretched her muscles in preparation for another day’s exertion.

After eating and packing, she stared into the passage, which continued south for at least a mile before making its first real turn. Thinking of home and of what it would take to return there, she hiked her backpack higher onto her shoulders and set off down the trail, her boots slipping a touch on the bare stone. The walls of the pass reached ever skyward as she walked until only a tiny sliver of the sky remained visible. Safir picked up her pace, eager to avoid getting caught by the high noon at the bottom of this crevice. The incline on which she traveled steepened considerably as she proceeded, slowing her progress by the time she reached the first turn on the trail. 

From the entrance, she could not have guessed at how dramatic the turn actually was. What she’d mistaken for a gradual shift in direction was almost an immediate change. Rounding the tight corner, her eyes widened at what they saw: the path continued, narrower still, up an incline almost as steep as a set of stairs. She wondered how the Wardens had managed to bring their cargo through this pass. The journey for them must have been miserable. Either that, or Morrigan and Ariane were not infallible as translators, and this entire endeavor was misguided and doomed to fail. Choosing optimism, Safir pressed on and strained her legs against the mountainside.

Slowly, the terrain surrounding the pass began to change. No longer protected from view by high walls of stone on either side, the pass now snaked its way through various depressions in the mountain’s slope. Though it was much less hidden than it had been at the beginning, the path was still masked in most places by low mounds that obscured the lands below. A traveler standing at the foot of the mountain would only be able to find her if she lit a torch in the dead of night. The coverage was neither consistent nor absolute, however. For brief stretches, all manner of protection from the right fell away, revealing the vast expanse of the Blasted Hills far enough below that it looked like a mere wrinkle in the fabric of the earth. By the time she first cast her eyes over Thedas from this vantage, the air had already thinned considerably. Breathing it in filled her lungs with a biting cold that inspired her to finally don the coat Morrigan had left her. The massive parka fell across her shoulders heavily, but it did its job very well, warming her body despite its inability to heat the air. 

Not much further up the mountain, the first signs of snow revealed themselves on the rocky slopes above her, small pockets of bright white glaring starkly against a backdrop of dark brown. She’d not yet climbed enough for the snow to survive long in direct sunlight; every few feet tiny streams of runoff crossed the path and continued down the mountain.

Looking up, Safir judged that she had only a few hundred feet of elevation ahead of her before the snow would become a permanent fixture. On she went, her feet complaining after hours of ascending the unforgiving stone, until the walls rose above her once more and she entered a narrow channel coated with a thick layer of fresh powder. After only a short walk into the channel, she encountered the first obstacle presented by the ancient Wardens’ secret pass. Blocking the way forward, an enormous pile of snow-capped boulders were packed into the channel, likely the result of some long ago rockslide. She approached carefully, praying not to disturb the rocks whose only possible direction of moving involved crushing her quite thoroughly. Reaching the roadblock, she swept her hands over the stones to clear them of snow and figure out where best to begin scaling. Choosing the largest and hopefully most stable boulder to begin her ascent, she clambered onto it and set about carving out handholds from the snowy gaps above her. Each step up risked toppling the entire pileup and leading her quest for the cure to a rather embarrassing end. With trembling hands and nervous feet she finally reached the top of the pile, which left her twenty feet above her starting point and once again able to soak in the grandeur of Thedas. To the north and south, the twin ranges that branched out into Nevarra and the Anderfels stretched forth like the arms of a crescent at the center of which she stood breathless.

Spying ahead, Safir saw that the pileup continued on for several yards, filling a good portion of the channel with enormous, unyielding boulders. Her fingers tensed with excitement as she surveyed the block. Standing as she was on top of the higher wall, she would risk nothing by toppling them all. There she paused for several slow seconds, attempting to convince herself not to dislodge the closest rock.

“Next time,” she told herself, shaking her head and resuming her arduous climb.

Following along the wall of the channel, Safir continued up the mountain, eventually reaching a spot where the walls receded once more and she was able to rejoin the path. Now, the snow was everywhere, coating every rock and every smooth surface it could until only patches of black stone remained visible. The snow had taken over even the air itself, coming down in flakes and dusting her coat. Bored and thirsty, Safir stuck out her tongue to catch as many snowflakes as she could. Peering up in her effort, she saw the mouth of a large cave carved into the mountain or else formed by some natural process. Safir traced her eyes down from its entrance to where it joined the path she walked. Sure enough, the Wardens had taken advantage of the cover the cave provided. Doubling her efforts, she marched quickly up to the opening and found not a cave but a tunnel, wide enough for carts to pass through it and protected from both eyes and elements. The waning light of day shone through from the other side, where the snow looked even more intense. Eager for a break, Safir entered the tunnel and set camp, her legs sighing in relief when she finally let them rest. That night she drifted asleep in the throat of a singing mountain, the howling gusts battering her tent as they flew through the tunnel.

The following morning, she packed her belongings away in the company of snowdrifts and tiny streams of water flowing down the tunnel and into the wide open face of the mountain. The tunnel itself was only a few hundred feet long, and always she could see daylight shining through from the other side. Making her way up and taking care not to slip on the damp rock, she reached the tunnel’s exit and emerged in an environment entirely unlike her previous one. 

The mountain’s brown rock had become almost black. Where before the snow was sparse and thin, here it covered every available surface in thick, heavy coats. Just as the snow’s density grew, so too did the terrain’s difficulty: the Wardens’ path was still easily visible, but traveling it now required stepping on uneven ground and maneuvering between sharp, jagged rocks. Rather than trickle down gently and slowly, snow poured down from above and gathered on her shoulders as she climbed. Winds whipped her around and blew clouds of snow and fog this way and that, obscuring the way forward and slowing her progress greatly. The penetrating chill of mountain air proved too much for her coat to expel entirely, leaving her stiff and shivering as she fought her way up. Her feet, numbing inside their boots, complained with each plunging step they took into the thick sheet of snow that covered the path. Ice clung to her eyelashes as much as to her coat, and she wondered how much heavier it had become since she’d first picked it up. Every hour of hiking compounded these pains until another sunset forced her to camp almost completely exposed behind a shoulder of rock that jutted out from the mountainside just enough to soften the wind’s bite.

Waking up feeling only slightly refreshed, she trudged on under a bright and clear sky that illuminated the majesty of the Hunterhorns at their best, beautiful and calm but as perilous as ever. Exhaustion and exposure had drained Safir of most of her bravado by the time she finally approached the top of the range; even her willingness to complain felt subdued by the effort of climbing. Thoughts of snow and wind and rock threatened to dominate her mind if not for the persistent sense of lack that hung around her neck. With every step she took, the inescapable silence of the sending crystal rung out in her head. It haunted her even despite Morrigan’s prompt and insistent warnings about her time with Safir being limited, as well as Safir’s own knowledge that Morrigan would be of little use to her in the coming days. Still, she could not help but wonder what the Witch of the Wilds would think if she’d remained in contact. What would Safir tell her?

Perhaps that if the Frostbacks were treacherous, the Hunterhorn Mountains were an impassable trap. That if it had not been for a single, winding road etched into the mountainside and hidden from view, she would never have made it past the foothills. That each day on the path seemed worse than the one that preceded it, the rocks more jagged and the air ever sharper. That this high up it stung simply to breathe. But perhaps also that thankfully, from the looks of things, there was nowhere higher to go. 

Safir walked among snowdrifts nestled in the shadows of two great peaks on either side, her momentum dampened by the winds that whipped around her. Each stride forward put another wrinkle in the heavy white blanket under which the sharp earth slept. Blinking in the field’s glare, she drew her coat tighter across her front as she crossed, burying her nose in its fur before daring to take another breath. The dry air masked the scent of matted hair and the general stink of a well-worn druffalo hide. It reminded her of Soldier’s Peak, its dank and musty halls lined all around with ancient corpses. No amount of bitter cold could have hidden the deathly stench that covered that place. Yet up here, there was little else to smell but the air itself, biting and cruel as it was. She donned her hood and pressed forward, doubling her efforts to make it out of this frozen sky and back into the comfort and safety of more breathable air.

That task proved far more hostile and far more difficult than expected. Despite being helped along by gravity, she soon discovered that the true challenge of climbing a mountain lay in remaining upright on the way down. More than once she caught her heels on the ground beneath her and only just managed to avoid a thousand foot tumble off of every map of the known world she’d ever seen. Safir learned from these mistakes and corrected her pace, now walking down the mountain at nearly the same speed she’d climbed. Had she known what depths of misery awaited any who dared walk down a mountain, she might have braved the deep roads from Kal-Sharok after all. The darkspawn presented a more substantial threat than a negative slope, of course, but at least they could be avoided or killed. Conversely, Safir struggled on ahead, hopelessly committed to every grueling step it would take to reach the bottom. Her shoulders fell dramatically when it dawned on her that, barring the spectacularly unlikely presence of an eluvian somewhere on the other side, this was a journey she would have to make twice. It was in the company of these unhappy thoughts and others like them that Safir took her leave of Thedas at last, pounding the mountain with the heavy plants of her boots as if to punish it for getting in her way.

The Wardens’ path continued down the western slopes of the Hunterhorns in much the same way as its eastern twin, shielded from view by height and hood. As the last of the heavy snow faded into thin coats and again into small patches, the mountains finally opened up to reveal what grandeur lay beyond them. 

Or, they would have if not for the impenetrable fog that hung at the range’s shoulder and robbed her of the view. Frustrated, Safir pushed through more of the path, hoping the clouds would clear away as she followed the sun to the horizon. Alas, the veil persisted even as night fell and she set camp underneath an overhang just a short way off from the trail. Then, flagrantly disregarding all rules of common decency, the Maker had directed the clouds to remain far into the next morning. Only sparing the minimum acceptable amount of time for self-pity, Safir trudged along yet again, preferring a lesser view to time wasted. Eventually, the rocky wall that hid the path from the west fell away entirely, but not before she had already descended into the thick of the cloud belt. Taking advantage of the view was not a particularly enticing prospect considering visibility was limited to thirty feet. To make matters worse, the clouds dissipated at almost the exact moment at which the rock wall returned. To its credit, the wall featured many dips, but even the shortest of these were windows only a sylvan could look through. Unsure if this was some great contrivance or if the very mountain conspired against her, Safir began to wonder if there was any land beyond the Hunterhorns to begin with. Maybe all the maps ended here because there was simply nothing left to chart.

Even for a theory born of frustration, however, this idea was short-lived. Turning right, the path descended into a small round overlook with no walls or clouds to obscure the view it commanded. She stepped eagerly toward its edge, finally able to see what lay before her. Plans fell into place of their own accord, building pictures of her next adventure. If it was a forest, there would be a trail to follow, and survival was easy enough. Plains meant less shelter but would be very simple to navigate. The only thing that was certain was that more mountains would not be waiting for her at the bottom, and nothing could spoil the glee that came with that. Nothing except…

Safir’s mouth hung agape as she marveled in horror at the enormous nothing that lay at her feet. Sprawling out in all directions, as featureless as the oceans whose waves it mimicked, was a vast and unending desert.


	15. The Relay 314 Incident

“Son of a fucking _bitch_!”

Safir collapsed onto her knees, basking in the empty glow of orange and beige that spread out further than her eyes could see. Shallow, defeated breaths fell out of her mouth as her eyes swept over the sandy expanse trying to pick out landmarks to navigate by. Finding nothing, it soon became clear that even had the Hunterhorns been crossed many times and by many people, very little of the land beyond them would be charted. Given such an enormous lack of anything at all, though, mapping out the desert would be a trivial task for a lazy cartographer, who could simply affix a blank sheet of parchment to any map of Thedas and call it a day. Wondering if she couldn’t take advantage of that simplicity herself, Safir began workshopping possible names for the vacuous landscape before her. With such lofty titles as the Hissing Wastes and the Silent Plains to contend with, she finally settled on the Big Empty Sand.

The Big Empty Sand was a dreary, dreadful place from the looks of things. 

Resigning herself to the fact that this place would be her home for as long as it took her to find whatever the Wardens hid out here, she started back down the mountain with slumped shoulders and a spitefully heavy heart. She abandoned the overlook for more of the same trail, every now and then finding clear spots from which to gaze out into the desert and try her luck again. But even as she drew closer to the wasteland with each new window she reached, no new details emerged. True to its new name, the Big Empty Sand admitted of nothing but big, empty sand.

After one last night of camping on the mountainside, she descended further still until finally she reached the dusty foothills where she set her coat and her rucksack aside and turned toward the east to look up at the monster she’d conquered. Sighing, she stretched out her right arm and thanked the mountains with a friendly display of her middle finger, which was soon joined by its twin on her left hand. Then she fell backward into a heap of her own relief and exhaustion, laying spread eagle on her back too tired to care about the pungent stench of her own unwashed body.

“Fuck you, mountain,” she exhaled heavily, staring up into the clouded sky. “Fuck. You.”

Throwing her head back so that she was facing the now upside down desert, she raised an eyebrow at a bit of debris some way down the hill. From this unconventional angle, it looked like the hilt of a sword. She’d have assumed it belonged to one of the ancient Wardens if not for its near perfect condition. Rolling onto her stomach for a better look, she confirmed that it was, indeed, a sword hilt, but how it got there or whose it was remained a mystery. She approached it cautiously, as though it were a bewitched object worthy of healthy fear. Picking up a nearby stick, she poked at it to make sure it was real and ordinary. It responded to her jabs as any old bit of junk would, and she was satisfied.

Adding to the evidence that pointed to this sword not having belonged to a Warden was its completely exotic design. The hilt was a narrow, bent tube of wood that tapered off without a pommel and was wrapped around with bright scarlet thread in a criss-cross pattern all the way down. Sticking out of its tiny crossguard were the first few inches of a broken, single edged bronze blade. 

Safir looked up from the hilt and found herself surrounded by further signs of battle. Scattered evenly around her, broken weapons and torn banners told of a small skirmish that had taken place here some time ago. All that was missing were the dead and dying laying in patches of yellow grass stained red. Looking north, her eyes fell upon a collection of buildings huddled together in the Hunterhorns’ shadow about a mile away. The promise of answers and evidence lured her forward, and after collecting her things she set off to find them.

Hugging the rocky outcrops at the bottom of the range, the village was clearly long abandoned. It stood isolated, adrift on a sea of sand with no roads in or out and only one visible path inside it. The tiny settlement consisted of two rows of sandstone buildings standing opposite one another on either side of a long, fat central track. Most of the buildings were in ruins, little more than hollow frames containing only rubble, but a few stood out in relatively good condition. Some even had multiple floors. Strewn about the town’s footpath were enormous canvas sheets in a variety of sun bleached colors that must have looked vibrant and beautiful in their prime, protecting the center road from the harsh desert sun. At the far end of the road, the largest building in the town stood like a patriarch at the end of a table. Much like the homes that sprouted up on either side of it, the hall was of somewhat rudimentary construction, with crude right angles and little architectural merit. At the center, a stone tower rose up from the facade like a chantry steeple, its shadow stretching forward across the hard sandy ground over which it loomed.

Safir entered the village cautiously, eyes scanning every empty doorway and every square window for signs of the people who’d built it. Her boots kicked up clouds of dust and dirt as she progressed down the road. All was silent except for the whistling of wind and the sound of her own steps. Now halfway to the hall at the far end of the town, she stopped to take a better look around. Her eyes danced across the stout buildings lining each side of the road, the canvas awnings laying tattered and dirty on the ground, the piles of wood and rubble and scrap that accented the ruins, at every turn rebuilding a picture of what the town must have looked like in life. Lively and possessed of a simple beauty, with market stalls and eager merchants clamoring to peddle their wares, all bustling under a prismatic ceiling of canvas billowing in the desert breeze.

Whatever its past, the tiny hamlet was no desert jewel these days. Whatever glory it had in its yesteryear was pathetic in death. Bleached, bone dry, and grimly silent, the ruin inspired more contempt and suspicion than it did awe. Safir studied her own skin, removing the fingerless glove on her left hand to gaze at her palm and paint it gray with her mind, a window into a future she hoped to avoid. 

Lost in these thoughts, she hardly reacted when the sound of a leather boot scraping against sand reached her ears from somewhere behind her. Despite being ripped so suddenly from her contemplation, she dared not give away the fact that she’d heard it, lest her stalker take notice and rethink his approach. Instead, Safir simply kept her eyes on her palm, ready to draw Fang with her right hand at a moment’s notice as soon as the attacker drew too close. Shifting her weight to give her hunter a false boost of confidence by making a bit of noise, she waited with perked ears and a tense arm until the footsteps were almost upon her. When they seemed only a few paces away from gutting her, she whipped around and drew Fang in the process, holding it out with a reversed grip while she pulled Moonmolar free of its sheath with her left hand.

Startled by her sudden action, the stalker flailed backwards before dropping into a defensive stance. Squaring off against her armed with a short, crescent shaped sword was a slender man wrapped head to toe in beige fabrics accented by leather belts and metal jewelry. Covering his head, a bright cyan scarf hid his features so that only his aggressive, piercing eyes were visible behind a thin slit in the linen.

“Who the fuck are _you_?” Safir demanded, swapping Fang and Moonmolar so that the heavier weapon was in her dominant hand. 

The man across from her offered only a hiss in response. He stood coiled like a snake waiting for the right moment to lunge forward with a devastating first strike. They circled one another, each sizing the other up with narrow eyes and quick beating hearts. 

“Who are you?” Safir repeated, watching for an opening. “I won’t ask again.”

With a sudden spiteful cry the man launched his first attack, springing forward with alarming speed and stabbing from low to high with his curved blade. Unsure how to counter such a weapon steel against steel, Safir opted instead to dodge, diving to the right and rolling back onto her feet. She went on the offensive at once, slashing diagonally with Moonmolar and aiming for the man’s neck. He avoided the attack swiftly, and countering her hooked her blade on his. With a twist and a jerk he ripped it from her hand, sending it flying behind him where it landed with a thud and a scrape onto the hard sand. Now armed dagger against sword, Safir tensed in response to her unfavorable odds. 

Circling around one another again, the opponents were given yet more time to study each other’s stances. The man’s style was quick but uncunning; his strikes were deadly fast and forceful, but his form sloppy and full of holes to exploit. Drawing on the finer points of combat drilled into her by Isabela, she dropped into a low and fluid posture to disguise her intentions with Fang and attempted to provoke him into a careless attack.

Goading him into a strike by lowering her blade and relaxing her defenses—a risky move, even against an ungraceful enemy—Safir watched for her moment as he spun forward and twisted. His hand flew up in a flash and before she could do a thing about it she was blinded by the sand he’d thrown in her eyes. Not a moment later she lurched backwards as the flat of his foot collided with her abdomen, toppling over onto the dusty desert floor. Rubbing her left palm over one eye and blinking rapidly to restore her vision, Safir won back just enough time to watch her enemy drop down on top of her in a straddle and raise his sword above his head with its tip pointing straight down.

Swatting his plunging blade away at the last second with the silverite bracer guarding her left arm, she gave herself the opening she needed to drive Fang through his gut and up behind his ribs. Removing it quickly she stung him again, this time under the collarbone. Blood seeped out from his wounds, staining her gambeson and falling warm and slick onto her neck. She shoved him to the left when he weakened, rolling him onto his back as the last pulses of life shuddered throughout his dying body. Sparing a moment to catch her breath and dust herself off, Safir crouched next to him and learned what she could from his equipment. His sword’s construction was crude, with only a small crossguard to keep his fingers behind the blade, which was thin and bent like a half-moon. Aside from jewelry and a few spare knives, he hid nothing in the folds of his outfit. Curious to know who’d been stupid enough to attack her, she unraveled the mint green headscarf to reveal her assailant’s face. An olive-skinned elf with dusty brown hair and gold rings on his ears stared back at her as he breathed his last.

Safir stood and backed away from her kill, tense fingers still clinging tightly to the scarf she’d taken from his head. A second later, emerging from behind cover with whoops and hollers, a troop of similarly armed fighters riding desert dracolisks surrounded her with their swords raised and their heads wrapped. Wheeling around her at high speed, they drew in closer with every rotation until the closest of them was just beyond the striking distance of an average spear. Safir raised her arms above her head in surrender, and the riders came to a sudden stop almost as abruptly as they’d appeared. One of them—their leader, perhaps—dismounted his dracolisk and stood in front of her without saying a word or approaching any closer. The scarf around his head was a brilliant shade of purple that gleamed in the sunlight. With a gesture, he commanded two others to rush over and scoop the dropped weapons up from the ground. Inspecting her blades, they spoke a language entirely foreign to her ears. Then he stepped forward and aimed the end of his sword at her heart.

“ _Muthuk da. Va rena trathen_.”

Reading his intentions was hopeless with his face masked. Safir’s only options were to remain silent or speak a tongue her captors were not likely to understand.

“ _Va rena_!” the leader said again, poking his sword forward. “ _Suthur bran ek thessa_.”

“I don’t understand you!” Safir insisted, dropping her hands. Their language, whatever it was, bore similarities to the elvish spoken by Ariane and Morrigan, but even were the tongues related, her knowledge of them was small indeed.

“ _Shemet durtha_. Common,” he sneered, cocking his head to one side as though he was loath to use her words. “We speak little Common.”

“You understood me? Oh, thank the Maker,” Safir sighed, her lungs expelling held breath to relieve tension. “Who are you people? What are you doing out here? I thought no one—”

Raising his hand in protest as he made a loud spitting sound from behind his veil, the leader cut Safir off derisively and spoke in his native tongue once more. “ _Sinat! Bar kath senec durtha Maker da_.” Pointing out two of his men, he spoke again in a commanding tone and ordered them to seize her. Their grip was rough and unfriendly, but she knew better than to attempt to fight back. Silent and stoic, they dragged her down the road with a security detail of lizard horses until they reached the large building at its far end. The man with the purple mask then grabbed her by the collar and dragged her inside, where another of his band sat cross-legged on a weathered pillow. Evidently, this was the true leader of the pack.

“ _Muthuku shemet_ ,” the masked man said to the one sitting down. Kicking her behind the knee to get her to kneel, he continued, “ _Desut tela_.”

The man on the pillow raised an open palm, instructing the masked one to take his leave. For the most part, the person sitting across from her was dressed in much the same way as his subordinates were: rough beige fabrics wrapped tightly around his arms and legs, with a freer flowing shirt draped loosely across his front under leather belts and rings of gold and silver. Unlike his friends, however, his head was not wrapped. Instead his black hair, swept back like a lion’s mane, hung freely but for a few small braids with his pierced and ringed ears poking out of it. Covering his dark face from the bridge of his nose down was a silken yellow veil fastened at his ears. A pair of twin curved daggers sat on either side of his pillow, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

“ _Moon thelek Alasenaste las rada_. Why you come?” he asked after a silence, thick accent cutting his words.

“Who are you people?” Safir asked him, unable to contain herself. “How is it you understand me?”

The man simply shook his head with a long blink. “I ask. You come here, kill my man. Why?”

“I came from over the Hunterhorns,” she answered, pointing right to where she knew the range stood outside. “Your man attacked me first.”

“Mellek was fool,” the man chuckled, his airy voice bouncing thinly across the room. “Him die not a shock. Why you cross Alasenaste?”

“Alasenaste?” Safir repeated, unsure what he meant.

“Alasenaste,” he nodded, and though she could not see his mouth she could tell he was smiling. “Earth favor. Long protect from human, from Chantry. Now you cross.”

“The mountains? They protected you from the Chantry?” Safir asked, connecting dots in her head. “How long have your people been here?”

“Humans take land, kill people, make prisons,” the man told her, his face and his mood both having fallen. “We not go to cities, we not hide in forests. We come here, free.”

“You’re talking about the Exalted March, aren’t you? Your people came from the Dales seven hundred years ago!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide as she palmed her forehead. “Maker’s balls…”

“Maker’s balls no power here. Only elvhen.”

“Right, right, of course,” Safir agreed quickly, resisting the urge to laugh. “Why is it you still speak the Common after so many years?”

“Alasenaste not block all people. We cross here and live, others can follow like you follow,” he explained. Pressing forward with knit brows, he raised his voice when he addressed her next. “We speak Common to warn foe. Why do you come?”

“Searching,” Safir responded, squinting under her palm to illustrate. “I came here to find something of the Grey Wardens’.”

“Grey… Wardens… _banalhat dothur_!” he shouted with sudden realization. “You oppose Blight?”

Safir nodded firmly, hoping the Wardens’ honor could save her even out here. The man stared unflinching into her eyes, betraying nothing of his thoughts in the thick silence that hung between them.

“We kill all that cross. No trust. We stay safe.” His cool eyes regarded her with disdain or contempt, fixed on her from above his nose as if boring into her with them would make her vanish. Then, with all the calm and grace of a host entertaining guests, he warmed to her at once and pressed his palm to his chest. “I called Dhamesh,” he said before gesturing to her.

“My name is Safir,” she told him, taking a seated bow to show him respect. “Are you planning on killing me?”

Dhamesh laughed heartily, bouncing on his pillow. “We secret, we safe,” was all he said to her.

Searching his eyes for some sign of what he expected of her, she simply turned her head to one side and pointed at her ear. “Trust.”

After a pause, Dhamesh bowed low and called out for his lieutenant to return. Exchanging a few words with him, he finally bid Safir to rise to her feet and gestured to her while looking at his man. “She guest. Treat well.”

The man with the purple veil did not take very kindly to his boss’s judgment. He argued against his master for some moments, speaking hurriedly in harsh whispers until Dhamesh rose from the pillow and squared off against him. Surprisingly tall and muscular for an elf, Dhamesh towered above his lieutenant menacingly, an act which won him the argument in an instant. After an apology, the masked man slunk back outside.

“He called Lormuk,” Dhamesh explained after he’d left, shaking his head at the building’s exit. “Not like trust, but you not worry.”

Safir glanced back and forth between the building’s exit and the man standing before her, waiting for him to make another move. Calmly, after taking a deep breath with closed eyes, he returned to his pillow and crossed his legs once again. He looked up at her expectantly, as though her continued presence meant she sought an audience with him.

“What now?” she shrugged. Dhamesh leaned to his right and set his relaxed eyes on the exit. 

“You stay, or you go. You ask, I answer.”

“Can you help me at all?” she ventured, hoping not to overstep her bounds among dangerous company.

“No.”

Safir frowned and crossed her arms. “You don’t even know what I need help with. It could be—”

“No, no,” Dhamesh interrupted, lifting his open palm off of his knee to quiet her. “We too small.”

“What?” she asked, traveling miles in her head to where other secret elven settlements must have been built. “How many of you are there?”

“ _Anuk_ ,” the leader said, holding out first all ten and then seven of his fingers.

“ _Anuk_? You expect me to believe there’s only _anuk_ of you in this entire desert?”

“No. More in desert,” he confirmed. Then, stretching his palm out toward the exit and bringing it back to his chest, he added, “We only _anuk_. Small group safer.”

“Safer? Living in a big city would be safer,” Safir argued amid mounting suspicions that she had not stumbled upon civilians. “Who are you people?”

“Desert life hard,” Dhamesh complained, speaking as though each word he uttered cost him dearly. “We make easier. Take what we need.”

A great many things became clear after his response. These were not the noble desert folk she’d assumed them to be. Descended from elves who fled persecution and struggled to build a home here, Dhamesh and his gang simply preyed upon innocents and no doubt fancied themselves hardened survivors making the most of a meager existence between the sand and the sky. Safir also understood why Mellek had attacked her on sight, and why Lormuk had been so displeased with his master’s decision. Her stomach turned at the thought of these thugs making things even harder for the honest men and women on this side of the world who simply wanted to get by away from the shems. She stared hard at Dhamesh, and for a moment his eyes were the eyes of the highwayman she gutted outside of Lothering. It would be so easy in Thedas. But here, alone, unarmed, and in need of direction, she had little choice but to stay her wrath.

“Please,” she began, inwardly recoiling at having to play the role of a thankful and gracious guest, “I need help to find something.”

“Find what?” Dhamesh asked.

“I came here following Wardens who crossed over the mountains a thousand years ago. I don’t know where they went, but they had building materials with them. Stone and wood and metal.”

Dhamesh seemed to give some earnest thought to her words, pausing long before he responded. “ _Sa_ ,” he said, holding up his index finger. “Only one place with wood and metal building. It far. Very far. Go alone, die.”

“And I guess you don’t want to send someone with me?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Dhamesh shook his head. “If you can survive here, so can I. If you show me how.”

“Take long. We need move soon.”

“Then I’ll improvise,” Safir rushed, barely resisting the temptation to color her language with less than courteous words. “Just show me what’s safe to eat and point me in the right direction.”

“You walk,” Dhamesh began, holding out his right palm. Then, holding out his left, he finished, “You die.”

“Okay. What about one of your dracolisks?” Noticing his narrowed, confused eyes, Safir mimed a mounted rider with her hands. “Mellek doesn’t need his anymore, right? Can’t be fun having to provide for a creature like that when you don’t need to, especially in a harsh and unforgiving desert like this one. I could do you a favor. Take it off your hands.”

Dhamesh sighed and held his eyes firmly on hers. Through them, she could see the gears of thought turning in the direction of agreement. 

“Yes. Go out. Lormuk will teach.”

“He’ll teach me?”

“Teach to ride, teach to drink, teach to live in desert.” Dhamesh stood up from his pillow and approached Safir, pushing her toward the empty doorway in the building’s foyer. “Go now. Lormuk teach, then you go.”

Stepping out and blinking in the high sun, Safir found herself standing face to face with Lormuk, who’d been waiting just outside this entire time. 

“You learn?” he asked her, tapping his foot impatiently.

Safir nodded her affirmation.

“You follow,” Lormuk directed, beckoning her over his shoulder as he turned away. Following him a short distance away to the scene of her fight with Mellek, Safir searched the grounds for her confiscated equipment but did not manage to find it.

“Where’s all of my stuff?” she wondered, lagging behind him.

“Safe. You get back soon.”

“Can’t I just have it back now?”

“No,” he snapped, stopping in place but not turning around. “Follow. Learn.”

Lormuk led on until he and Safir had passed out of the ruined village altogether, and then kept going. Traveling under a clear sky and a hot sun, they went on long enough for Safir to wonder if Lormuk was going to kill her in secret. Out here with no weapons and sweat dripping from her brow, she’d have a hard time of defending herself. While she was in the middle of coming up with possible escape routes, all of which invariably amounted to running away as quickly as possible and hoping not to be found, Lormuk stepped into a patch of brush and scrub and stooped down in front of a bright green cactus nearly twice the size of his head. Grabbing it by the flowers that sat atop its body, he pulled it to the side to expose its roots. Then, using a knife like a machete in miniature, he hacked away at them until the entire plant came free.

“Leave root, plant grow back,” he said, pointing at the intact root he left in the ground. Using the knife’s handle like a stake, he poked a hole into the bottom of the cactus and brought it to his lips, taking several long gulps before handing it to Safir upside down. “Good for drink. Good for eat. Grow everywhere.”

“Is that how you people survive out here?” Safir asked, peering into the hole to inspect the quality of the liquid inside. “Just eating cactus?”

“No. Find animal, find food.”

“What sort of animals live out _here_?”

Lormuk hummed behind his scarf, muttering to himself before answering the question. “ _Chunak. Fels_. No word in Common. Small. Easy kill with bow.”

“Perfect. I don’t have a bow.”

“You take Mellek bow,” Lormuk sighed, watching Safir wipe sweat from her forehead. “And Mellek scarf. He not need now.”

True to his word, Lormuk produced a bright cyan scarf of linen from a rear pocket and handed it off to her. After showing her how to properly wrap it and granting her a welcome reprieve from the harsh sun, he held out a lanky arm in the direction of the village.

“Back,” he ordered. “More to learn.”

Walking ahead of Lormuk, Safir led the way back to the village, a task made easier by her adoption of Mellek’s headscarf. She handed the cactus to one of the other thugs upon her arrival before her reluctant instructor tugged her away and took her behind a building to a small yard shaded by a drawn sheet of canvas. Standing under the awning with their reins secured to heavy stones were seventeen beige and brown dracolisks, one for each of Dhamesh’s gang. Lormuk strode into the pack, untied the reins of one of the wiry beasts, and led it away from its fellows to where Safir stood waiting.

“Kick to go. _Fas_ to stop.”

“ _Fas_ ,” Safir repeated, studying the beast’s many sharp teeth. “Am I saying that right?”

“ _Fas_ ,” Lormuk grunted in confirmation. Then, with a stiff arm and a sudden jerk, he offered her the reins. “He is mean,” he said.


	16. Drink Cactus Juice

Taking the reins somewhat apprehensively, Safir followed Lormuk into the center of the village with the dracolisk in tow. It begrudged her leading, stopping and starting again at her insistence whenever she yanked the reins to get it going. The dracolisk hissed at her with each pull but nonetheless dragged its feet across the ground until Lormuk directed her to stop. 

“Wait,” was all he said with a lazy gesture before disappearing behind the building where the other mounts were tied. He returned shortly, already in his saddle atop a sandy beast with streaks of red in its hide. Not even pausing to address Safir, he simply stretched out an arm and called out to a pair of the outlaws who were nearby and busying themselves with packing saddlebags. 

“Is that my sword?” asked Safir, squinting through her mask at the tangled limbs that obscured her view.

“Yes. They bring.” Lormuk whistled harshly and the two men preparing the bags quickly scooped everything up to bring it over. They waddled under the apparently heavy weight of the cargo, stopping just short of Safir and throwing it onto her dracolisk’s back. A short, unstrung recurve bow made of a dark, spindly wood poked out of one of the canvas bags. Fit snugly into a scabbard tucked between it and the beast’s hide, Moonmolar’s hilt jutted out where it would be comfortable to grab while in the saddle. One of the bandits who’d slung the bags up then approached her with Fang in hand, flipping it around to present it to her hilt first. Taking it quickly, she returned it to its home in the small sheath at her back.

“What’s in the bags?” Safir asked after the two helpers had left. Lormuk seemed to scoff at the very idea of being asked a question.

“Food. Three day.” Scratching his head, Lormuk glared down at her without another word. With his bright mask blocking his brows, she couldn’t tell if his eyes betrayed anger of confusion. Maybe both. “Up, up,” Lormuk insisted, motioning her to saddle up onto the dracolisk.

She looked the strange creature in the eye for a moment, hesitating while trying to figure out how to mount it. The dracolisk barely eyed her at all, instead responding to her interest and curiosity with a look of utter, disdainful boredom. It soon broke from her gaze entirely, preferring to watch sand blow across the track instead. Lormuk hissed at Safir to hurry up, bringing her attention back to the saddle and the uncomfortable task of climbing into it.

“Why you slow?” he rushed her, clicking his tongue impatiently. “Need travel soon.”

“Well, I’ve never…” Safir faltered, nervously grasping the top of the saddle and preparing to haul herself on.

“ _Shemet falka das_ ,” Lormuk sighed, and though she had no idea what his words meant, tone made his insulting meaning clear. “Left foot step, right foot over. Easy. Baby can do.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, man. I’ve killed humans for less than that.” Against all reasonable expectation, Lormuk actually chuckled at the quip, bouncing up and down in his saddle as she struggled into hers. It seemed dead humans were the key to his heart. 

Lormuk whipped the reins on his mount the moment Safir was seated, not waiting for her to get comfortable or even looking back to make sure she was following. Stuffing booted feet into their stirrups and settling awkwardly into the single-pommeled saddle, Safir whipped the reins as Lormuk had done and kicked the beast to no avail. Repeating these actions did little to persuade the dracolisk to move, and pleading with it only seemed to make it more comfortable to remain where it stood. 

By this point, her begrudging guide was already well out of the bounds of the village, and Safir still stuck waiting for her beast to follow. 

“Move it, you fucking stupid animal,” she complained, ramming her heel hard into its flank and losing her balance when it finally jerked into an almost spitefully unsteady trot. At that pace it caught up to Lormuk’s mount quickly. Too quickly, in fact, as it refused to slow down to match Lormuk’s speed and instead marched forward indifferently.

“ _Fas. Fas_!” Safir cried, and without regard for even its own momentum, the dracolisk skidded to an instant stop, causing her to lurch forward and crash face first into the sand. “You fucking asshole!” she shouted, spitting out what dusty grains made it through her mask and throwing a fistful of dirt at its side. 

Lormuk’s gleeful laughter grew louder as he approached and then passed her, shaking his head at her misfortune and inexperience. Grunting, Safir climbed back into the saddle and kicked at the piss taker’s side to get it moving again, which it was all too happy to do this time. Apparently satisfied at having taught Safir her lesson, the dracolisk caught up to Lormuk’s and kept pace at its right without even being commanded to do so.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, you little asshole,” Safir whispered to herself. Then, raising her voice, she said, “I don’t think this thing likes me very much.”

“Him no like anyone. He is mean,” Lormuk reminded her, still giggling. “I warned.”

“Yeah, so I’ve noticed. Is that why he was Mellek’s mount? Dhamesh didn’t seem to like him.”

“Mellek?” he asked, turning to face her with a lazy hand on his hip. “No, no, him was mine. Your problem now.”

“So you’re just using me to get rid of your ride because it’s a dick?” Safir narrowed her eyes at Lormuk, torn between resenting him and being impressed. He simply shrugged his _yes_ and focused again on the way forward. “Does he have a name?”

“Piska,” nodded Lormuk. “Him Piska.”

“Does that mean something?”

“In Common,” Lormuk started, “I think word is… motherfuck.”

“Motherfuck _er_ ,” Safir corrected him, almost unwilling to believe that this was her beast’s true name. However unconventional, the bastard had certainly earned his title. “I’m actually riding a dracolisk named Motherfucker? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No joke. Piska is _piska_.” Lormuk waved his hand lazily as he explained. “That is why him called Piska.”

Now that her mount had calmed down and settled into rhythm alongside Lormuk’s, Safir no longer seemed to interest him. Lormuk led on in total silence, never changing direction and never pausing as he rode to the south following the mountains. She’d been so preoccupied with Piska’s rebelliousness that she hadn’t even given any thought to where Lormuk was actually taking her.

“Where are we going?” she abruptly asked. “I was told there would be a river around here that I needed to follow.”

“River? No, no river,” Lormuk shook his head. He pointed straight ahead, indistinctly mumbling what must have been a measure of distance in his own tongue. “Small water. I show. It far away still.”

“How far?”

“Far. Sun go down before we reach.”

“So we’re gonna camp together?” Safir wondered, unsure how she felt about the prospect of sleeping in the company of someone who clearly would have preferred to kill her upon their meeting. Instead of providing her with an answer, Lormuk just sighed and hung his head. Safir took that to mean that they were, in fact, camping together, but also that he was just as reluctant as she was. Somehow, that made it much less uncomfortable.

Swaying in their saddles, they continued following the range south and twisting around the scrub and bush that clung to the foothills. Meanwhile, the Big Empty Sand stretched out on their right and continued to be prodigiously big and empty. Something like two hours into their journey, the sun had settled into the far west, hovering about a hand’s height over the horizon and staining the beige with orange. There were no clouds to speak of in that direction, which hopefully meant that the desert’s weather would be relatively stable. Still, it didn’t bode well for the prospect of finding anything to eat or drink that deep into it, and she hoped against hope that the Wardens’ secret structure would not be that far off. Either way, they still had to reach the not-river before she had any hope of actually finding the damn thing, and the setting sun meant that she and Lormuk would have to bivouac on the sand for what was sure to be an incredibly awkward night.

Setting camp was a simple matter of finding some big rocks to tie the mounts to and preparing a fire to sleep by. After collecting enough tinder and setting it alight, Lormuk immediately set about getting some food ready. Safir watched him pull rations out from his mount’s saddlebag and hold it over the fire for a few seconds before loosening his head wrap and stuffing his face with it.

“What are you eating?” she asked him, trying to make out what it was in the dim light. 

“Meat. Dry. Same as you,” Lormuk answered between mouthfuls while pointing at her own mount’s cargo. “Last until small water. Then you find food in desert.”

Safir circled around the fire and made her way to Piska, beginning her investigation by lifting the flap of his saddlebag and sniffing at the air that came out of it. Whatever it was, it didn’t smell like food. Nothing but the dry and musty scent of too-old cloth and leather reached her nose, so she poked around with her hand until she managed to grab hold of something that at least felt like it was edible. Pulling it free of the darkness and into the light of the fire revealed a thin, dried up piece of meat that looked like it could make an Orlesian blush. Safir couldn’t deny that she was hungry, but she was still in no hurry to put the mystery meat in her mouth. She sat across the fire from Lormuk and held it over the flames while wondering what the hell it actually was.

“What kind of animal did this come from?”

“Kind you eat,” grunted Lormuk, still working on his own dinner. “Kind that make you stay alive.”

“I figured that much out for myself, thanks.” Moving slowly, Safir brought the jerky to her lips and took a small, cautious bite out of it. To say that it tasted awful would be a grievous insult to awful food everywhere. “Oh, fuck… this is terrible.”

Lormuk nodded. “I not say it taste good.”

“Yeah… I can’t imagine why.” Safir did her best to scrape the disgusting flavor from her tongue and strongly considered just giving the meat to Piska instead. Hopefully she could find one of those cactuses Lormuk had shown her nearby. 

“Not here,” the outlaw suddenly spoke, having rather astutely guessed at her intention. “No food here. If reach small water without eat, maybe.”

Safir curled her lip at the meat as she turned it over in her hand, unwilling to take another bite but very aware of her lack of options. Much to her own dismay, her growling stomach made short work of her inner protestations and she committed herself to trying to eat the jerky as quickly as possible. After a few steadying breaths she tore into it as Lormuk had done, grimacing as the musky, grainy meat spread over her tongue and slithered down her throat. 

“Oh, this is revolting,” she spat, wondering if she could burn her tongue on the fire to spare herself having to taste the food. Lormuk, relaxing across from her, tossed the last of his share into his mouth and grinned as he chewed.

“You get used. Not so bad after while.”

“I find that very difficult to believe.” Pausing to make sure that she could actually keep the food down, Safir went for another bite of the disgusting meat and watched with furrowed brows as Lormuk lay down on his bedroll and shut his eyes. “I suppose _I’ll_ take first watch, then,” she muttered.

Lormuk raised an eyebrow at that, opening one eye to stare at her. “Watch? No need watch. Nothing here. Just us. Desert safe.”

“If this desert is so safe, why was I attacked on sight when I got here?”

“You enter camp. Mellek just trying to be safe,” Lormuk shrugged, turning his back to Safir to sleep on his side. “Quiet now.”

Whatever assurances Lormuk made had little effect on Safir’s instinct for security. She kept her eyes alert and open long after Lormuk had shut his, staring out into the dark of the desert night while stars shone brilliantly overhead. Somewhere in that black expanse was her ticket out of the calling, or so she hoped. Here she was in the middle of nowhere, where so much depended on so little. A single clue had taken her beyond the edge of Thedas, and she hadn’t even the slightest idea of what that clue would actually lead her to. These thoughts fogged her mind as the weight of her eyelids steadily increased and she replaced sand with stars, staring up at the sky before drifting into sleep beside a dying fire.

_She stood in the center of the camp, turning around to look at the tents that surrounded her. No one was sleeping; they all sat just outside of their tents, each tending to their own fire. All around them, standing at the rim of the small clearing, the forest was alive with swiftly moving shadows that dashed back and forth behind the trees. She tried to peer into the woods to find out what they were, but everywhere her eyes turned they met with only the swirling dark. From somewhere behind her, a clawed black hand wrapped around her shoulder._

_With a cruel yank, it pulled her off her feet and slammed her onto her back, where more claws sprang up from the ground to hold her in place. Now unable to move, she watched helplessly as the clearing was flooded with the dreadful voices of a hundred hungry darkspawn._

_They tore through the camp on an onslaught, leaving bleeding, blighted corpses in their wake. With each camper they slew, another fire was snuffed out, and the camp plunged further and further into darkness. The claw digging into her skull twisted her neck so she could watch each one._

_Sten’s fire was the first to go out just after a shriek’s bladed fingers lashed at his throat. Next was Leliana, whose fire died when she did, a hurlock’s sword piercing her heart. Wynne was thrown into her own fire, Zevran’s guts were spilled, and Shale was torn apart into rubble. Oghren they beheaded, and not even the mabari was spared. The slaughter continued until only one fire still burned. The claw at her head tilted to show them to her. Morrigan and Alistair, sharing a single campsite, wore smiles on their faces as shrieks dug into their flesh and their fire spat out the last of its embers._

_The clearing fell into total, silent darkness, and for a time all was still and calm. All sensation faded until the music crept slowly into hearing, growing louder until all there was was the song._

Safir’s eyes flared open and fell on dim morning light. The desert lay in the Hunterhorns’ long shadows, the sun still too young to fall across the sand. Lormuk lay sleeping still, but heavy heart and quickened lungs were poor companions.

“Hey,” she called, her voice faltering as she recovered from the nightmare. “Lormuk! Get up.”

With a heavy groan and many foreign complaints, Lormuk stretched awake and regarded Safir in a single bored glance. A stiff grunt took the place of his greeting.

“Good morning to you, too,” said Safir. “I see you’ve finally decided to trust me with your face.”

Confused, Lormuk patted himself around the head and realized he’d used his headscarf as a pillow during the night. Like Mellek and Dhamesh, he had dark olive skin and feline eyes. His thick black hair hung in curls behind his pierced ears. He quickly wrapped himself in his bright violet mask, though hiding his face from anything other than the sun was pointless now, and they both knew it.

“Your face red,” he accused, flicking his wrist in her direction as he set about collecting his things.

Safir flexed her cheeks and felt the familiar sting of a sunburn cover them. “Yeah, well, you took your sweet time giving me Mellek’s mask.”

“You not ask for it sooner. Not my fault.”

Safir rolled her eyes at this, electing to change the subject rather than squabble over something as inconsequential as an itchy face. “Where are we going today?”

“Small water. Will reach soon, if we fast.”

Without even a meal to start the day, Lormuk prepared his mount for riding and prompted Safir to do the same. Their sparse accommodations for the night made packing up a quick affair that saw them back on the move before long. The sun had still not risen above the peaks by the time Lormuk slowed to a stop at the crest of a large dune and bade Safir move closer. Doing as instructed to the best of her ability given Piska’s intolerance of obedience, Safir drew up next to him and followed his pointing finger to a depression in the land ahead. 

“There. See it?” he asked, jabbing his finger at its target.

“Yeah… there’s a dip over there,” Safir affirmed, squinting through her mask. “Looks like it goes west.”

Lormuk grunted a quick confirmation. “Small water there. Follow and find _banalhat dothur_ building.”

“Wait. That’s the river?”

“No river,” Lormuk reminded her.

“But it _used_ to be one, right? It used to be a river?”

Lormuk nodded. “Small water now. River almost dry up.”

Safir peered at the depression she now understood to be a dried up riverbed, trying to guess at the remaining distance to it. From her vantage, it looked to be only about a mile away. Unfortunately, looking west to follow the bed returned many more miles of unending sand. Even with the river to guide her, picking out a single structure in all of that emptiness was sure to be unrelentingly difficult. 

“Fucking Wardens...” Safir muttered. “Why’d they have to put this thing in the middle of nowhere?”

“I not know. I just show small water. Now my job done.”

“Are you going back now?”

Lormuk paused a moment, twisting in his saddle to face her. Patting his open palm against his chest, he said, “My job done. Your job begin.”

Without another word he tugged on his reins and directed his dracolisk to turn about. He gave Safir a stern nod before spurring the beast on and riding north. Safir shook her head with a sigh, annoyed at the suddenness and tactlessness with which Lormuk had departed.

“Yeah, it’s a real shame!” she shouted after him in a dry rasp. “I really felt like we were starting to connect with each other, y’know?”

Lormuk was apparently too uninterested to provide a response, and rode on without missing a beat.

“Asshole…” 

With nothing left to do but see her task completed, Safir kicked Piska into motion and set off to reach the riverbed. The depression in the sand told of a river that was once wide and strong, tough enough to carve out a bed that endured throughout the long centuries it must have taken to dry up. Now, all that was left of it was a slow-moving stream that trickled down from the mountains and looked to be only a few feet deep. Guiding Piska to the right with some effort, she rode alongside the stream with only her thoughts for company as the sun came out of hiding and beat down upon her back.

Bearing her along the dry riverbed on four stilt legs, the dracolisk’s weight shifted constantly under hers, its clawed feet impressing themselves onto the compacted sand beneath them. She ran her arm across her forehead to find it slick with sweat despite the best efforts of her headscarf to keep the relentless sun at bay. Reaching for the waterskin hanging at her side, she brought it to her lips and quickly drained it of the last few drops of water that hadn’t been evaporated by the heat. The drops slithered down her throat, warmer than the skin around them and falling far short of providing relief. She checked to make sure the stream was still flowing before letting out a sigh, reluctant to prolong her stay in the unsettled desert.

“ _Fas_ ,” she called, giving Piska a light squeeze with her thighs. Stubborn as ever, the beast belayed the order until she gave it a second time, finally coming to an abrupt stop and forcing her to brace herself against its neck to keep from falling off. She ran her palm along its spikes and scales, their surface rough like dulled rocks, hoping that kindness would inspire cooperation. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Lowering herself off the cotton saddle, she unslung the waterskin and made for the lazy stream, a pathetic ghost of the once great river that coursed over the bed centuries prior. Removing its cork upon arriving to the edge, she sunk the leathery sack into the water and instantly felt it inflate against the stream. This far into the desert, the mountain runoff was no longer cold. Instead, it matched the warmth of her skin, not the least bit refreshing.

Crossing a desert was not a particularly interesting undertaking. On her third day out from the abandoned village Safir had run out of the disgusting provisions provided to her by Dhamesh’s gang and now depended on the land for her survival. Piska did well enough for himself by grazing and hunting whenever she paused to refill her waterskin or made camp. Safir herself was confined to the slow stream, eating and drinking from the cactuses that grew along its northern bank. They gave her substantial nourishment, if a little bland.

Aside from making barebones camps each time night fell, these small breaks were her only respite from the immense monotony of desert travel. Every moment not spent eating, drinking, or sleeping was spent on Piska’s back with her eyes sweeping across the endless horizon. Even the Hunterhorns shrunk away in time after she’d put enough distance between herself and the enormous range, leaving her alone in a massive dust bowl that threatened to swallow her whole. Each hour that passed her by without any sign of Warden activity dug into her like a knife and drained her of resolve. On more than one occasion, Safir caught herself ignoring the task altogether, staring absently at the sand in front of Piska’s feet without giving any thought to what she might be missing on the horizon. Every now and then she would remind herself of her responsibility and answer the call of duty with a quick and unenthused glance around. Each time, she saw nothing but sand. Only the riverbed kept her from losing hope entirely. It was her way forward and her way back, and as long as she kept near it she could at least be certain that she wasn’t lost.

If you could call being by yourself in the middle of the Big Empty Sand ‘not being lost’, at least.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be, Piska?” Lowering herself from atop the dracolisk and setting down her rucksack, Safir stretched her legs before pulling a tightly wound bedroll out from one of his saddlebags. The beast kicked some sand around with its scaled feet, apparently as bored as she was. “So you think it’s hopeless, too, huh?”

Unfurling the bedroll and spreading it out on the sand, Safir sat down and stared up at the emerging stars while Piska knelt and shut his eyes.

“See you in the morning, then, I guess,” she sighed. Scratching at the places where sand had broken through her linen shirt, she fell asleep already dreading another day among the dunes. 

Torn violently from her rest in the throes of a desperate cough, Safir fought for clean air to breathe and didn’t dare to open her eyes. Wind and sand clawed at her skin, howling all around her as a storm flew across her tiny camp. The dracolisk, if it was still there, was silent, likely not a stranger to the volatility of desert weather. Unfortunately for her, she did not have as tough a hide as her mount. Cradling her face with her arms and bowing low, she felt the sand scrape away at her hands while she tried to spit out the grainy mess that filled her mouth.

She forced it out in clumps, the earthy dust absorbing too much saliva to make spitting as easy as it should be. Every crevice in her mouth was caked with sand which, despite her best efforts, proved difficult to expel. Coating her tongue as if stuck with glue, the sand gave way only when she scraped it off with her teeth, filling her mind with the taste of sun-bleached stone. 

Staying close to the ground, she waited for the storm to pass, clutching the sides of her of her head and spitting out globs of sand as often as she could. The sand lashed at her skin and tore it open wherever enough of it was exposed, but all she could do was grit her teeth and endure.

When the storm finally did pass and she could open her eyes after brushing the sand out of her face, Safir blinked into a pale dawn. Sand filled her ears and caked her hair, clung to the stinging wounds it had created on her arms, coated almost every part of her body. She was certain that she’d lead a trail of it everywhere she went for the rest of her life. Frustrated and without the patience to check on Piska or her belongings, she fell from her knees onto her ass and huffed angrily at the nearest hill. 

“Fuck this,” she grunted. “Fuck this fucking fucked up desert. Fuck this stupid fucking desert and every fucking thing in it.”

Stewing for a few minutes until she was just calm enough to perform basic tasks with some difficulty, Safir finally rose from her half-buried bedroll and dug her backpack out of the sand nearby. She shook herself as clean as she could and looked around for Piska, finding him wading in the river a few hundred feet downstream.

“Now _that’s_ not such a bad idea…”

Moving with a haste motivated by anger, Safir joined Piska at the lazy waterway and stripped naked before jumping in. The water quite easily dealt with the sand that clung to her body in most places, though certain others took some effort to make clean. Beneath the flowing stream, the sand felt slick and slimy underfoot, prompting her to get out before long. Then, like a proper elven washerwoman, she soaked her clothes in the stream that they might also be rid of every last grain of the wretched substance. Dripping wet after donning them again, she mounted Piska’s saddle and whipped him forward, barely resisting the temptation to turn back toward the mountains. If she didn’t find the Wardens’ _whatever it was_ soon, hopefully the desert wouldn’t take much longer to kill her. Piska would have a fine meal then, and death would grant her the mercy that geography refused to.

Then again, dying here would rob her of the opportunity to spite the entirety of Thedas by surviving.

Hours later, Safir squinted into the sun-drenched distance, desperate to find some evidence that the structure she was looking for actually did exist. So far, journeys into vast deserts had only proven themselves an effective means of losing weight. Not only that, but she’d also lost count of how many days she’d been here, and the lack of any landmarks aside from the riverbed meant she had no sense whatever of where she actually was.

She tugged the reins to her right, directing the dracolisk toward the peak of the nearest dune to get a better view. Summiting the sandy hill, she found herself once again surrounded by the plain vista that was now all too familiar. An endless sea of beige and orange stretched out before her eyes, its rolling hills covered not in grass but in shimmering sand. She whipped her head around, hoping against hope that she would finally spot a break in the pattern and put her searching to an end. But, like before, there was just more nothing. Surrendering to yet another luckless day, she took both reins in her hand and prepared to whip Piska back into motion. Just as she returned her attention to the sand ahead of her, however, an irregular glint flashed in the corner of her eye. 

She snapped her head right, scanning the horizon until she found it barely peeking out from behind a sandy ridge: a stone spire topped with bronze. She had no way of knowing just how far the tower was, but at last, she knew _where_ it was. Looking back to the stream, she felt the weight of her waterskin and considered her options, then whipped the reins in the direction of the shining spire.


	17. Wan Shi Tong's Secret Warden Archive

Safir and Piska stood at the bottom of a steep incline, staring up at a bronze tipped tower of beige stone that jutted out from the sand. Below it, almost entirely buried by the dune, the top ten or so feet of an enormous sandstone facade poked out of the hill, all that was left of the Wardens’ construction. 

“It’s a fucking miracle we found this place,” Safir said, stroking Piska’s neck. The beast had warmed to her over the course of their long journey, perhaps only as a result of their solitude. Either way, the fact that it rolled its long neck at her touch instead of trying to throw her from the saddle was a welcome change to his behavior. 

Whatever this structure was, it had almost been swallowed whole by the desert and finding it at all was a stroke of unparalleled serendipity. Safir lowered herself from the saddle and half crawled up the hill to reach the exposed stone that remained. Something like forty feet wide, the building dwarfed her even in this pitiable condition. There was no telling how much of it lay hidden still under the sand. Safir walked its length hoping to find an entrance of some kind but came up rather tragically short. The wall had no opening, and the dune did not yet reach high enough for her to clamber onto the roof and try her luck there. Trying to dig down and find an entrance would surely be as useless as it would be inefficient.

“Well,” Safir began, “so much for finding the Wardens’ secrets.” In her frustration, she kicked at the wall and was greeted by a hollow ring and the scrape of rock against rock. She knelt down and pressed her palm to the stone, pushing against it until she managed to move it forward a few inches. “Holy shit, it’s loose! Aha! Piska, it’s loose!”

Looking back down the hill she saw that the dracolisk was thoroughly unimpressed with her discovery, but she was too relieved to care about the opinion of a reptilian horse anyway. With rapid, excited breaths gushing out of her lungs, she sat down and slammed her heel into the stones to make herself a window large enough to stick her head through. Craning her neck into the hole, she saw the bottom of the structure about four stories down, with a few short piles of golden sand illuminated by the pillars of light that landed on them from holes in the ceiling above.

“Amazing,” she gasped. “Fucking amazing.”

Backing out of the hole, Safir raced down the hill to where Piska stood waiting and retrieved a coil of tough rope from one of the bags hanging at his side. She quickly found a solid bit of stone to fasten it on and, after testing it, threw the rest of it down into the hole she’d made herself. After returning to Piska to set up a canvas tarp for him and give him some shade, she tossed her rucksack in after the rope and waved goodbye as she lowered herself inside. She climbed down hand over hand, grimacing as the rope constricted around her feet to slow her descent. She landed with a booming thud at the bottom of the structure and impatiently threw on her gambeson and leathers, which she’d taken off at the start of her trek to avoid the heat. Once everything was back where it should be, it was finally time to unearth whatever secrets the Wardens had buried here.

Just like she’d done during the Blight, she began her exploration by taking stock of the room she found herself in and noting each of the available paths to take. Here, there were three. One on either side of her and another directly ahead. Behind her, smashed in by centuries of the desert beating against them, a pair of massive wooden doors poked out from the bottom of a pile of sand and rubble. That must have been the entrance.

Safir made for the path on the left first, passing through vertical beams of light as she made her way to the stone archway set into the far wall. A quick look inside the room beyond it told her everything she needed to know about it: the ceiling had collapsed long ago, and now it was little more than a repository of ancient sand.

“One down,” she said, “two to go.”

Walking straight across the main hall with confident strides, she found a similar scene in the room that had been on her right when she entered. They may have perfected the art of stopping Blights, but the Wardens’ prowess in masonry certainly left a lot to be desired. Safir found herself suddenly unwilling to believe in the grandeur of Weisshaupt or the strength of Adamant Fortress. Not that it mattered much, she supposed. If this ruin contained the answers she sought, her reputation and that of the Wardens would soon be very separate indeed.

Of course, actually finding those answers relied upon the third path not being a dead end.

Which, miraculously, it wasn’t. Passing under the archway in the center of the main room, Safir found herself walking down a dark, dusty hallway about a hundred feet long with a brightly lit room at its other end. Upon reaching it, she stood face to face with a short engraved pedestal behind which were five enormous stone coffins arranged like a fan. Knowing the Wardens’ penchant for standing on ceremony, Safir assumed that the bodies in these coffins must have belonged to important members of the order, though certainly not anyone who’d stopped a Blight. Who they were didn’t really matter; the engraving on the pillar at the end of the hall was all in old Tevene anyway.

Stepping further into the room, Safir craned her neck up at the ceiling to find five skylights carved into it, causing rays of brilliant sunlight to beam down onto the heads of each of the coffins. It probably looked even more dramatic at night, with the pale light of the moon piercing the total darkness that would no doubt prevail. 

Satisfied with her appreciation of lighting and architecture, Safir swiveled on her heels to take in the rest of the room and found that there was actually nothing else in it. It was just a big sandstone square filled with a bunch of old boxes containing people who died a very long time ago.

“I swear, Morrigan,” she started, “if you led me all this way just to visit a fucking tomb, I’ll…”

Safir paused in the middle of her thought, her voice broken by realization. The walls had only one distinguishing feature, set directly behind the center coffin about ten feet off the ground. Two columns of evenly spaced holes pierced the wall and led from the ground to a square hole just big enough to crawl through. Beneath it, scattered on the ground, were several rusted iron spikes and a few scraps of rotten wood. Why the ancient Wardens had decided to put a dwarf-sized hole in the wall accessible only through what must have been a wooden ladder was a mystery, but it was her only way forward. Or, it would be if she were tall enough to reach the hole on her own. Frustration bore the beginnings of a plan that took shape in her head.

Stepping to the side and lining up the hole in the wall with the coffin in the center of the fan, she made a quick judgment of the distance between them and grit her teeth at what she was about to do. She approached the coffin head on and pressed her open palms firmly against its lid.

“Sorry, whoever you were,” she said just before straining her arms and legs against the heavy sandstone that topped the sarcophagus. The harsh, throaty scrape of stone against stone resonated loudly in the small, open space when it finally budged and made its slow way off the coffin. Once it was far enough over the edge, she ceded control to gravity and allowed it to lean against the coffin while she rested her muscles in preparation for the difficult task of pushing it up to the wall. Safir chanced a quick look inside the coffin and found herself staring at the skeletal remains of an ancient warrior buried with his weapons. Atop his chest, resting on tattered fabrics under a veil of cobwebs and dust, a silver griffon crest adorned the corpse that bore a striking resemblance to the Warden Commander’s badge that was once hers. She’d never felt much kinship with the Wardens as an order, but even she could not deny the small flutter of honor that took root in her chest upon seeing that shared symbol from so far back in time. Annoyingly enough, though, that also made her feel worse about having opened the coffin to begin with, which was motivation enough to quit dawdling and get back to work.

Standing at the coffin’s side, she pushed the lid even further until the end touching the ground had just about reached the wall behind it. Now all that remained was the simple matter of pushing the other end up to lean it against the wall and render the hole accessible. With a couple hundred pounds standing between her and the way forward, it was sure a lucky thing that she still had her Warden abilities. Even so, as she maneuvered into the best leverage she could manage, the effort was an exhausting struggle. Pushing against the underside of the lid with her back, she stepped backwards slowly until the lid toppled over in the other direction and landed with an echoing pound against the wall. It wasn’t the best of ladders, but it would do.

With a running start, Safir kicked herself up off the middle of the lid and reached for the lip of the hole, using the lid’s top end as a step with which to haul herself up. Doing so caused it to slide off of the wall, and it splintered the moment it hit the ground.

Steeling herself for what might lie ahead, Safir crawled through the hole and made her way across a short tunnel that grew taller the farther down it she progressed. At its end, she found a large, dimly lit circular room laying empty before her. Just like the room she’d come from, the tunnel opened several feet above the ground. Unlike the room she’d come from, this one was flooded. A small island of sand rose up out of the cistern in the center of the room, but directly below her there was only water. Safir sat in the tunnel and swung her legs over the edge, careful not to lose her balance as she tried to judge the depth of the floodwater. Low light made that task impossible, so after tossing her rucksack onto the dry sand she jumped blindly with her legs bent and ready to catch her. She landed hard on her hands and knees in a foot of freezing cold water, the splash soaking her hair and filling the room with noise.

Safir plowed through the water until she reached the island in the center and surveyed the environment. Light shone down onto the sandbar from a hole in the ceiling above, cloaking the room’s perimeter with an ominous dark fog. The only way forward was an empty doorway set into the far wall, but before she could even take the first step toward it, the way was sealed by a thin barrier of white magic. Almost like the surface of an eluvian, it swirled and pulsed in faint wisps. Not a moment after it had formed, a deep voice boomed within the cavernous walls.

“None who enter here may leave this place alive!” it said, loud and hollow. The grave warning was then joined by the apparition of a warrior spirit clad in ghostly mail and armed with a translucent lance. 

“None save those who prove themselves in combat,” a woman’s voice added. Next to the spearman, a second ghost appeared, this one a woman clad in steel plates with a sword and shield in her hands.

“Who are you?” asked Safir, drawing her blades slowly. “Or… who _were_ you?”

“Who we were matters not,” the spearman dismissed, brandishing his weapon. “All that matters is your skill in battle.”

The warrior charged without another word, driving the tip of his lance straight at her heart and forcing her to dodge left. Without missing a beat, Safir charged in counter, throwing Moonmolar’s weight into the spear’s shaft to redirect his defensive lunge and bringing Fang to bear on his throat. The ghost ducked before her blade connected, and with an opportunistic shove he sent her careening toward the flat of his partner’s shield. 

The other spirit swung her shield in a wide arc and put Safir on her back just at the edge of the water. Safir rolled away from two sword strikes before taking a page from Mellek’s book and throwing sand at her attacker. The grains stuck to the ghost as if by magic, hanging in the air and distracting the spirit long enough for Safir to regain her feet and defend against the male ghost’s spear. In an attempt to gain control of the man’s weapon, Safir wrapped her gloved fingers around it but found no purchase; rather than disarm her opponent, she managed only to inflict a searing cold upon her palm. The more heavily armored ghost closed the distance while Safir recoiled from the pain and lashed at her with a glowing wisp of a sword. Safir dodged and parried as she could, finally managing to find a weakness to exploit and stabbing Moonmolar through a gap in her armor. Rather than kill the spirit, however, the blade hung dead in the empty space without even slowing the ghost’s attack. Safir rolled backwards before either of her opponents could make her pay for that miscalculation. Her weapons were apparently useless against these spirits.

With both fighters straight ahead of her, Safir inched right to close on the spearman and provoke him into attacking. She ducked in and out of his reach over and over, making herself predictable to inspire confidence in her enemy. When an attack finally came, she narrowly avoided it by dancing to the left and closing the distance slightly. On his second strike, she did the same, putting herself between the two ghosts. Finally, when the spearman lunged at her in frustration, she ducked below his strike and watched with satisfaction as his lance stuck into his partner’s gut and caused her to disintegrate where she stood. Only the warrior’s sword and shield remained, thudding damply onto the sand. Safir capitalized on the spearman’s regretful pause, grabbing the spirit blade and throwing it into his chest before the icy sting set in.

In defeat, the spearman withered into a thin cloud of steam and magic, leaving the room silent save for the lapping of water.

Still panting from the fight, Safir crept through the hall that joined the flooded room to the one that followed it. The damp corridor soon opened into an enormous room almost completely submerged in shadows. A meandering fissure in the ceiling allowed sunlight to beam down through the cracks in the stone and light a snaking path on the tiled floor. Though it looked like a mess at first glance, the light pattern could not have been a simple accident; it wormed its way around the room, turning many times but never crossing its own path. She was clearly meant to follow the light through the room, but that was much too simple to be taken lightly. Slowly, she put one flood-soaked boot on the path after another, never taking her attention away from the shadows that surrounded her for too long. She approached the first turn in the lightpath, which veered left after only a few feet. Just before rounding its corner, she jumped back, narrowly avoiding the trajectory of a ghostly arrow. In her haste, she bounced out of the light and immediately felt an icy blade cut into her arm.

She turned to face her new opponent only to find that there was no one there. As she peered into the darkness in search of whoever had given her the cut, another arrow soared just over her head. The game was beginning to make sense now. Safir followed the lightpath again, stepping quickly but carefully and keeping up her coiled guard. Ducking as she rounded the first turn, she heard the whistle of a third arrow sing behind her ears. With narrowed eyes she pressed forward, half crouching and leaning into each turn on the path, lurching forward or back as necessary each time another shot came out of the dark. As she progressed, the path thinned, making it more and more difficult to remain within its bounds.

By the time she’d made it halfway through, her arms were covered in vicious, chilling cuts. On she went, her arms growing heavy as the blood drained out of them. A few feet ahead, the path turned around completely to dodge another part of itself. Taking advantage of the proximity, Safir followed the other section to its end, finding the room’s exit only twenty or thirty feet further down. She paused to consider her options, betting that a quick enough leap could get her across the shadowy gap without inflicting too much pain from the cuts it would earn her.

As if to punish her for slowing, the arrows flying out from the darkness quickened their pace, searing around her each second and robbing her of the opportunity to make a cautious decision. Safir erupted into a sprint, jumping as she reached the light’s edge and soaring through the brambled dark to land on the other side. She grimaced against the pain that sung in her nerves after countless new lacerations dug into her flesh and collapsed under her own weight the moment she landed, reduced to clawing at the floor to drag herself the last few yards to the exit. Arrows flew overhead the entire time, some even deflecting off of her bracers or thudding painfully against her gambeson. 

When she finally passed through the archway into the next room and into better light, the cuts on her body lit up a pale, bright blue that shone through her armor and faded away in seconds. 

“No scars, then,” Safir grunted as she picked her lightening body back up off the floor. “That’s a relief.”

Working out a kink in her neck and preparing for the next test, Safir strode forward and reached a small, narrow room lined all around with unlit torches. In its center, atop a stone altar covered in webs, an ancient goblet of worn silver stood motionless and waited for her approach. Scanning the ground for any traps, Safir cautiously drew up to the goblet and inspected its contents. Inside, rather than water or some kind of potion, there was nothing but dust. It was quite obviously very old, dull in both texture and sheen, and unquestionably significant if it was left here. Carefully, Safir picked it up off of its small pedestal and turned it over in her hands. She wiped it clean of dust as she studied it and guessed at the stories it might tell.

“You must be the first Joining chalice ever used!” she gasped, staring at her mottled reflection in its surface. “Amazing!”

Her interest exhausted, Safir tossed it back over her shoulder with a casual shrug, its clanking and clattering filling the tiny room with a thin, tinny echo.

“Such disrespect,” cooed another ghostly voice. “You are a poor demonstration of a Warden’s honor.”

“And you’re really getting on my nerves now,” Safir retorted, drawing Moonmolar without hesitation. “Show yourself so I can kill you and get out of here.”

“Are you so certain a fight is ahead that you would not even ask after my purpose?” The silky voice paused to allow for her answer, but she refused to give it one. “Very well. I shall reveal myself as you wish.”

Falling into place in a plume of white and blue smoke, the ghost of a robed man with flowing hair appeared opposite Safir on the other side of the stone altar. He was unarmed, but likely a mage in life.

“You have done well to defeat my brothers and sisters and reach this place. A Warden’s honor you may lack, but her determination and grit is alive in your veins.”

“Flattery’s not going to stop me from gutting you, spirit.” Safir aimed Moonmolar’s tip at the ghost’s heart and took slow steps to round the altar.

“Do you not tire of violence?” the specter complained. “I do not wish to be dispersed, nor is it my desire to stop your progress.”

“No? Then what are you doing here?”

“My purpose is to guide the way. Had you arrived earlier, I would have tested your worth with the chalice you so lovingly hurled across the room.”

“Oh, shit, you know what? I left my certificate of worthiness back home in Denerim,” Safir joked, though she felt far from jovial. “Oh wait! No, I’ve got it right here! Let me just pull it out for you…”

Burying her free hand in her rucksack for a moment, she withdrew it again with her middle finger raised and presented it firmly to the ghost that stood before her. Surprisingly enough, the man chuckled at the display.

“A blasphemer _and_ a comedian, I see. Be calm, I have no plans to test you now.”

“You don’t?”

“Not a one,” the ghost shook his head. “The wards protecting that chalice from the ravages of time wore off over a century before you arrived. Had they been intact when you came upon it, I would have made you drink of its contents.”

“And what would that have done?” asked Safir.

“It would have proven your willingness, and made you worthy.”

“Um… I don’t get it.”

“Think, young one, _think_.” The spirit broke from Safir’s gaze and faded through the altar, gliding through it and approaching the exit of the previous room. “When you entered, you triumphed over Artha and Ghalina. In war, victory. Following that, you defended yourself against Karth and Rosberne. In peace, vigilance. And here, with Desquies, you would have drunk from the original Joining chalice.”

“In death, sacrifice,” Safir finished with a solemn nod. “Man, Wardens sure do have a hard-on for sacrifice. You would actually have me risk my life when I’m trying to save it?”

“The darkspawn taint you may excise from your body, young one, but ever will a Warden’s blood flow through your veins. In drinking from that chalice, you would have proven yourself willing to fight ever for the greater good, even at the cost of your own.”

“Yeah? Nice sentiment and all, but that’s still fucked up.”

“Lucky, then, that it should no longer be necessary.” Phasing back through the altar, the spirit led the way to another archway at the end of the room. “As I said, the wards are faded, and the ritual rendered uncompletable. Nothing more is required of you.”

“So you’re just going to let me go?”

“Truthfully, I care little to perform the duty to which I was bound, as its meaning has elapsed. I will not keep you pointlessly from your treasure.”

“Oh. Cool,” she shrugged, sliding Moonmolar back into its sheath. “What exactly _is_ your duty, though? I mean, who _are_ you people?”

“Do you know nothing of your history?” the ghost scolded, wagging a spindly finger in her face. “We are simulacrums of the first five Wardens to attempt the Joining. All of us perished, as the formula had not yet been perfected. We are bound to remain here that our sacrifices not be defiled before their due. Should the Joining’s reverse be discovered while any Archdemon yet lives, the sacrifices of all Wardens shall be dishonored.”

“But you’re letting me go.”

“That’s right,” the spirit assured her, nodding nonchalantly. “I do not much care about the Wardens’ honor.”

“Awesome. Love it. So, about this treasure…” Safir drawled, not wanting to appear too eager.

“Long ago,” the simulacrum started, “when the world was ravaged still by the fires of the First Blight, a brotherhood of elite warriors swore themselves to fighting back the darkspawn. Through means of a bloody ritual, they imbued themselves with the powers of their enemy, but always at a cost. A _sacrifice_. They devised this ritual on a foundation of death and blood, and knew that every drop of it was necessary to ensure victory.

“But while creating the Joining, they created, too, its cure. The knowledge of that cure is the order’s deepest kept secret, and it lies just ahead. Follow this passage and you will arrive at a stone tablet. Inscribed on it is the formula for the Joining’s reverse.” 

“Wow. Just like that, huh? No big deal?” Unsure of herself, Safir took long and slow steps toward the exit. “What are you going to do now that the cure’s been found?”

“I do not know,” he admitted, tilting his head up in contemplation. “I long to be free of this place, where the veil is so pathetically calm. Faintly, I can sense powerful waves in the Fade from far away lands. Perhaps I will investigate.”

“Sounds like a riot,” said Safir, backing more confidently into the passage. “I guess I’ll just be going now.”

“Also, I would advise you to bring one of these torches with you.” With a wave of his hand, the spirit commanded a torch to fly from its sconce on the wall and into Safir’s open palm. Then he lit it with a snap of his fingers. “You will find yourself in need of it quite soon. Oh, and do make sure to follow the water.”

“Got it, follow the water. Thanks for your hospitality,” Safir bowed. “Excellent service, really.”

Turning her back to the spirit and hurrying down the passage lest he change his mind about letting her go, Safir searched intently for the inscribed tablet. Some ways down the passage, the straight hewn walls and floor slowly gave way to raw stone and rough surfaces. Corridor had turned to cave in just a few paces. The light that bled into the tunnel from the altar room was desperately weak here, and already Safir relied more on that of her torch. The echoing drip-drop of water that bounced toward her from the far end of the tunnel hinted at a hidden lake resting in the caves. Ariane’s swimming lessons had helped some, but Safir was no more eager to fall into water now than she had been before she could tread it. She prowled cautiously through the tunnel, her boots scraping across the dusty rock, and dreaded the moment when the rough and flat would become slick and slanted.

She lowered the end of her torch to better light the ground in front of her and continued forward until she reached its edge, where the firelight met its near-perfect reflection in the surface of the water several feet below. The sound of running water boomed across the cavern louder than ever, filling it with the impression that it was everywhere at once.

The rocky path she’d been following split in two when it formed a T at the edge of the water. Armed with the knowledge that she had to follow the current but not with the means to see it, she reluctantly set about tearing off a few inches of fabric from her scarf. The splitting of fibers echoed in encore as she let the tattered sliver of linen fall into the water, where it gleamed in the torchlight and began to wander to the right.

Following it, Safir edged along the rocky path and once again kept a weather eye out for the tablet the Warden spirit had described. A couple hundred feet down, the narrow walkway opened up into wide open space thrumming with the increasing volume of the water flow. Set against the wall in the corner furthest from the water was a stout pedestal bearing an etched Warden seal and holding up a small and flat rectangular stone. Bringing her torchlight to bear on the tablet, Safir finally beheld the fruit of her long labor, all of Morrigan’s promises come true in the form of an ancient bit of rock. Unfortunately, it was of little use to her here. The inscription carved into the stone was all written in a foreign language she was not equipped to understand.

“Son of a bitch, why is everything important always in Tevene?” she complained. Thinking quickly, she produced a couple leaves of parchment from her backpack and pressed them flush against the tablet. Then, with the flat of her charcoal drawing stick, she copied a rubbing of the inscription that could be translated later. “There, all set.”

Packing everything away, she followed the cave to what she hoped would be its exit. A short way ahead the footpath and the water parted ways, with the former entering a narrow tunnel and the latter plunging down a foaming waterfall at great speed. She sped along the path’s slight decline until the tunnel opened up again and resumed as before with one key difference in the terrain: rather than hug the edge of the water, the footpath was now suspended many feet above it.

Safir’s steps echoed through the cave as she made her way through it, fighting to be heard over the rush of the water speeding below. She held her torch at an angle, keeping the light on the ground ahead. Her path narrowed with each step she took down it until only a sliver of flat rock remained nestled against the cave wall to her right. To her left, some twenty or thirty feet down, was the subterranean river, coursing faster for every yard of width it lost. Its white foam glinted in the torchlight, painted orange by the quivering flames.

On she went, until the light of her fire was joined by a soft blue glow coming from above. The new light hid just at the edge of perception, faint enough that it disappeared under the scrutiny of a direct gaze. As she set her eyes once more on the dusted rock that lay before her, tiny blue dots revealed themselves to be the myriad sources of the weak gleam. Further through the tunnel, the dots changed shape into beaded strands of luminescent silk that hung from the ceiling like drops of water frozen in time. The intensity of their light waxed and waned every few moments as though a river of energy connected them all. Safir's familiarity with the Deep Roads had taught her to recognize the growth of lyrium, and this was not it. Some manner of strange, alien life made its home on the ceiling of this ancient cave. Whatever creatures these were, their numbers grew steadily as she progressed, as did the intensity of the sapphire hue with which they filled the air. It was thanks to their glow that Safir spied a change in terrain long before the light of the torch would have unveiled it for her. 

Waiting in the blue distance was a pair of thick domes made from carved stone jutting up from the ground. Upon reaching them, she saw fastened around the top of each one a pair of thick frayed ropes that bore the damp marks of a thousand years’ idleness. The ropes flew out into the darkness ahead, sagging under the weight of the wooden planks that were tied together beneath them.

“Maker only knows how you’re still here,” Safir muttered, doing her best to inspect the quality of the wood in the gloomy atmosphere.

Rope bridges were frightening enough when they were well maintained. This one couldn’t have known the touch of a caretaker’s hand at least since the structure’s construction during the First Blight, and was likely held up by magical wards whose creators were long dead. How fortuitous that it should be her only way out of these caves. Basing her estimate on the amount of slack on the ropes that held the bridge in place, she judged its length to be in the realm of a hundred and fifty feet. A hundred and fifty feet of the most precarious and uncertain steps she was ever likely to take. Safir thanked the Maker for Ariane’s instruction as she tested the first plank with her weight.

It whined at her touch, creaking loudly even against the constant noise of the river flowing rapidly beneath it. Despite the complaint, the wood held quite firm, and the ropes taut. She added force to her step, pushing down against the bridge harder than her own weight would if she stood still. The creaking grew in volume, but still the bridge held. Safir stepped off of it and back onto solid ground, unslinging the waterskin from around her shoulder. She emptied it into the river below and shook as many drops of water out of it as she could. Then, rolling up her rubbing of the cure’s inscription into a tube shape, she stuffed it inside and sealed it behind the cork. Sighing deeply, she grabbed the ropes on either side, the torch still within the grasp of her left hand, and set off. 

She crept slowly at first, pausing every few steps to reassess the bridge’s strength before continuing down the massive gap it spanned. Her confidence grew steadily as she progressed, and before long she found herself taking longer strides at a quicker pace. Before she knew it, she’d crossed the bridge’s midpoint and was fast approaching solid ground. Then the left side of the bridge sagged ever lower than the right. Her eyes flared open in horror as the rope cracked and splintered under her weight. She lunged and clawed her way forward hoping to reach the other side before the rope finally gave way, but she’d sprung too late. The rope snapped, her torch and many of the bridge’s wooden planks spilling with it into the coursing water below. The river smothered the flame at once, revealing the true magnificence of the lights above in all their glory. There she clung to the single cord that remained, suspended in the center of the echoing stone corridor beneath the pulsating glow of a thousand shades of blue.

Safir pulled herself partway up, just high enough to get a foothold on the planks that remained, and crawled in a desperate balancing act to avoid falling into the rapids. Her breathless grunts bounced off of the wall in front of her, pierced by harsh snaps that betrayed the rope’s increased strain. As she reached out to pull herself another few feet toward safety, the rope went slack. Air rushed past her ears for a pair of agonizing seconds before the water engulfed her, too cold and too close. The scarf, still wrapped around her head, clung to her face even as she broke through the surface, robbing her of what should have been her first breath since she’d fallen under. She fought her reflex as her body seized up in the freezing river and tore the linen from her nose and mouth, gasping for air while the current dragged her along. Struggling to maintain her grasp on the rope, she pulled herself hand over hand down its length, a task made more difficult by its flaccidity in the speeding water that bore it along. The river slammed her into the rock face on the other side of the bridgespan before she could react, and in another moment she was downcurrent of it, the rope tight once more.

Safir battled the current for every inch, clawing her way up the rope against the unrelenting tide that pummeled her. After gaining much hard-won ground, she rounded the corner of the rock face and hooked onto the remains of the bridge, its planks now arranged like the rungs of a great ladder. She nearly screamed her exhaustion as she dragged herself out of the water and made her way to the top. Halfway up, just as she reached for the next plank, the one beneath her foot gave way and she fell with a cry back into the frigid current.

Up and down ceased to be the moment she sunk into the water. All she knew was the concussive force of the river beating her with the stone of its walls. Her lungs empty and searing, she kicked wildly until she breached the surface and stole a precious breath from the cave. The next wave crashed over her head a split second later and sent her back into the depths, where she clawed at the space before her to reach the surface again. This process repeated itself several times over, Safir tumbling end over end as the rapids sped above and around her. She won just enough time with her head above water to keep from drowning but had little say in where the water pushed her each time she slipped beneath its surface. The hard stone left her too battered and dazed to stay conscious. Her awareness flickered on and off, leaving her with only dim and blurry glimpses of her ride through the cave. Surrounding the chorus of that flashing blue light, verses of the Blight’s song called out to her from the darkness.


	18. Escape from L.A.

Safir raised her head slowly from coarse, damp sand. Every muscle in her body complained as she dragged herself out of the water and away from the shore. Opening her eyes, she blinked into the setting sun and rolled over onto her back, breathing heavily and shocked at having escaped without any broken bones. She ignored her splitting headache and checked items off of a mental list to assure herself that she still had each of her belongings. The most important of these was, of course, her waterskin. Uncorking it, she pulled the rolled up papers out. They were damp and smudged in one or two places, but otherwise unharmed. Safir sighed in relief and set her eyes on her rucksack. It was far too soaked to risk stuffing the cure in there, so back in the waterskin it went. 

She spotted a red stain in the canvas and felt her heart sink when she realized she was not bleeding. Quickly, she threw the pack open and stared down at the broken vial inside. Just when it finally seemed possible, in an instant, her quest had failed. She fell onto her knees at the edge of the water and cast her dejected gaze west to where the sun had nearly fallen below the horizon. In the opposite direction, the bronze spire blazed orange a few hundred yards away. Marching to it to rejoin Piska while hanging her drenched and splitting head was humiliating.

“Well, it looks like we blew it, buddy,” Safir lamented, stroking Piska’s neck. The beast huffed indignantly almost like a mabari. “Okay, fine, _I_ blew it. Come on, we might as well get some sleep before we head home.”

Retying her headscarf after stripping off her heaviest layers, Safir spread everything out to dry and unfurled her bedroll underneath the tarp she’d made for Piska. Looking her way, the dracolisk knelt down beside her and rested his head next to her thigh. Running her hand along his scales seemed to please him.

“I wonder what it would have been like to live out here instead of in the forest,” she said, watching the sun disappear under the dunes. Piska growled at idea. “Sure, it’s harder to survive out here, but I have you as my trusty animal companion, don’t I? I didn’t have that in the forest.”

Something in the way Piska shifted his weight gave Safir the impression that he doubted the usefulness of having a bird or a dog accompany her in such a wasteland.

“I’m not talking about a bird or a dog, I’m talking about _you_!”

Piska’s eyes fluttered open at her insistence, accusing her of overestimating his ability to change his form.

“Why would you have to change form at all? You’re just fine as a dracolisk, and… wait a minute.” Safir yanked at the twine around her neck and grasped the sending crystal tightly. “Morrigan, is that you again?”

_Yes, it is_ me. _Why you seem to have so much trouble recognizing that is a far better question_. The stone pulsed in her grip like the ebb and flow of Morrigan’s irritation.

“I’m not used to having a talking rock on my person at all times, alright? Besides, I just took sort of a beating, and it wouldn’t exactly be surprising if I found myself talking to my dracolisk after a head injury.”

_A dracolisk?_ the crystal rung. _What are you doing in the company of a dracolisk?_

“I’m fine, by the way,” Safir groused. “Thanks for asking.”

_You would not be speaking to me if you were not physically well, would you? Must I pester you for every unimportant detail?_

“Possible head injuries are unimportant, are they?” Patting a gentle hand around her skull to check yet again for dents, Safir assured herself that she had not, in fact, injured her head. “Anyway, the dracolisk is how I got through the Big Empty Sand. His name’s Piska.”

_Did you say the Big Empty Sand? Many maps have I studied, but never have I come across so ridiculous a name._

“Oh, right. That’s what I call this place,” Safir explained. “Everything west of the Hunterhorns. Big fuckin’ desert. You’d love it.”

_I enjoy trees and water and diverse wildlife_. The stone warmed up in Safir’s palm to convey Morrigan’s affection for dense foliage. _What makes you believe that I would enjoy being in so large a desert?_

“I don’t know, honestly. There are so few living things out in this place, I figured nothing could annoy you here.”

After a pause, the stone jumped in agreement. _I suppose that makes_ some _amount of sense._

“Right, well, anyway, the dracolisk is a loan. I think.”

_A loan from whom?_

Safir’s eyes widened as she recalled her promise to Dhamesh. He might have been no better than a thief, but there were sure to be other elves in the desert deserving of her protection. Floundering a touch, Safir quickly evaded the question. “Uh, from nature, I guess. Tamed him myself. Not easy.”

_Fine. Do not tell me, if that is your wish._ The crystal tapped impatiently in Safir’s hand. _Have you any more news of your quest?_

“Yeah,” Safir drawled, drumming her fingers on her thigh. “Pretty big news, actually. Like… it’s all over, it’s hopeless, and I’m coming home without the cure. That sort of thing.”

_Your jokes do not amuse, sister_. The stone cooled in sympathy for a moment before Morrigan said anything else. _What happened? Did you learn what the Grey Wardens were doing in the desert?_

“I did. Just got back from there, in fact.” Safir's head bounced on her shoulders as she contemplated how best to summarize events. “Cool place. Fought a few ghosts, found the cure, explored some neat caves.”

_You found the cure? This sounds like a success to me._

“Yeah, well, about the caves. There was a complication in the caves. More specifically, there was a really old rope bridge that I should not have trusted. Long story short, I still have the cure, but your vial of blood broke while I was trying my best to not drown.” Pausing, Safir waited for a response from the crystal that did not come. “I’m fine, by the way.”

_I do not understand. At what point did the quest fail?_

“At whatever point the vial broke, I’d assume. Maybe it was at the same time I smashed my face against that rock in the river.”

_Where is the vial now?_ the stone clicked once, as unshakable as Morrigan’s single-mindedness.

“I’m fine, by the way.”

_For pity’s sake, Safir, I am aware of your present physical condition. Where is the vial?_

“Does it matter? It’s broken. This whole thing’s fucked.”

_Do you recall what I said to you when I revealed that the blood in your vial belonged to an Old God?_ A prolonged vibration in the rock added an impatient _hmmm?_ to Morrigan’s question.

“Yes, I do. You said… er… Yeah, I don’t remember.” Somehow, the stone found a way to sigh at her.

_I said little is not equal to nothing. Unless you find yourself unwilling to seek out more of the Old Gods’ blood, your quest is not yet over._

“Wait, you were serious about that?!” Safir yelped, her heart beating twice. “I thought that was just something you said so I wouldn’t freak out!”

_When have you ever known me to protect the feelings of another?_

“Okay, fair point there. So, this is good, then! I have the cure, now I just have to get the hell out of here and find more Old God blood!” Safir deflated once the words reached her own ears. “Speaking of which, have you got any leads on that? Because with what I know about the world, finding more seems to be a tiny bit on the impossible side right now.”

_I regret to say that I do not know exactly where more of it might be found. ‘Twas luck in adversity that graced me with the vial you destroyed, but more exists in the world. Of that much, at least, I am still certain._

“So how would you go about finding it?”

_I would recommend that you search in Tevinter_ , the stone drummed. _It was there that the Old Gods were worshipped, after all._

“Tevinter, huh? I guess that makes sense,” said Safir, clicking her tongue in thought. “Where in Tevinter should I look?”

_Wherever knowledge is kept._

“Wherever knowledge is kept… right…”

_I am, of course, referring to a university. Tevinter has several, as I recall_. The crystal hopped in an even rhythm as Morrigan made her suggestion. _If you seek ancient artifacts, you must consult with those who record their history. Though, I would advise against working with another pet of the Maker’s, like that bumbling fool who accompanied us to the Temple of Sacred Ashes._

“Yeah, Genitivi, right? He was a total idiot,” Safir nodded. “Just so I know we’re both on the same page, though, why exactly was he a total idiot?”

Morrigan sighed through the crystal as if she were loath to explain herself. _Any scholar working on behalf of the Chantry or the Maker will attempt to take your discovery for their own. They will never allow you to part peacefully with the blood in hand. Acquire whatever assistance you need, find it, and keep it secret from then on._

“You make a compelling argument. Alright, then. Tevinter it is.” Safir gazed into the darkening east, elated that it was now her destination. “I can’t wait to get out of this place and be on the right side of the Hunterhorns again.”

_Do you truly despise the desert that much?_

“You bet your ass I do,” Safir growled. “I actually found myself missing the Nahashin Marshes. Fuck deserts.”

_Your affection for nature is an inspiration, my sister._

“If nature didn’t suck so much, maybe I’d be kinder to it.”

_I would think that, having grown up in a filthy slum, you would rejoice at the opportunity to be in a wide open space with clean air to breathe._

“Hey, the alienage might be a shithole, but it’s _my_ shithole,” Safir asserted with her brows tightly drawn. “And those are _my_ people.”

_You still feel kinship with those pathetic fools?_ Morrigan asked, the crystal beating in surprise. _They are no better than the mages who allow themselves to be imprisoned by a religious cult. Are you not more closely bound to the Grey Wardens?_

“No. I never cared about being a Warden, and if I ever pretended to it was just for Alistair’s sake.”

_Then why did you not abandon them at the first opportunity?_

“There was a Blight on, and we were the only ones left.” Safir found herself laughing at a silent observation, prompting Morrigan to ask what was so funny. “Do you honestly think Ferelden would have survived with _him_ in charge?”

The stone bounced giddily as it channeled Morrigan’s playful mirth. _That is a most insightful assessment_ , she agreed. _Still, I am fascinated. I was not aware your ties to the order were so tenuous._

“Well, you never asked. And you didn’t stick around to find out after the Blight was over.”

_There is no need for the reminder, my sister. Do not think I have forgotten how I failed you._

“I spent nine years reminding myself of my failure, you know. I’ve had lots of practice.”

_Even so, ‘tis not something that bears repeating. I have done what I can to—_

“Relax, Morrigan,” Safir interrupted. “I don’t want to have that conversation again any more than you do.”

_Very well, I shall consider the matter resolved_. The stone in Safir’s hand beat like the pensive tapping of fingers. _The matter of your cure is more important. You said you found it?_

“Yeah, it was in a cave. There were a bunch of Warden ghosts, or spirits, or _copies_ of them, I don’t really know how it works. They were just like the spirits in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

_Simulacrums_ , Morrigan offered through the crystal.

“Right, those things. There were five of them, for the first five Wardens to take the Joining. And the last one would have made me do the Joining again just to get at the cure, if you can believe it.”

_That does not surprise me. The Wardens are ever so fond of sacrifice._

“That’s what I said! Anyway, I got lucky.” Safir scratched her head as she tried to recall the final spirit’s motivations. “The magic protecting the potion wore off before I got there and nothing was left but dust. So the ghost just let me take the cure free of charge.”

_And? What is the cure?_

“Well, I don’t know yet. It was inscribed on some tablet, I think in Tevene. I took a rubbing of it and I’ll have to get it translated somehow.”

_‘Tis most fortuitous that you should be going to Tevinter, is it not? Finding a translator there should prove quite easy._

“One would hope. In the event that I don’t, though…”

The sending crystal snapped in place of Morrigan’s rushing Safir to the point.

“Well,” she started, “I don’t have a magic rock that lets me talk to Finn whenever I want. If I can’t find someone to translate, do you know any Tevene? Would you be willing to help me finish the cure?”

_I know the language, yes,_ Morrigan said. Should you require my aid, you need only ask for it.

“Thank you, Morrigan. I really appreciate it.”

_Speak no more of it. Do you yet require any assistance?_

“I’ve never been to Tevinter, actually. Got any tips?”

A short, cooling pulse hummed in the stone like a thoughtful pause. _There are many places in the Imperium that could fulfill your needs. You would be certain to find a capable scholar in Minrathous, though you might prefer to try Ventus, where you are more likely to be treated well. I have not visited it, but there may also be such a scholar in Vyrantium._

“Vyrantium?” Safir said, her memory tracing back to its root. “There’s someone in Vyrantium I need to pay a visit to. This is perfect!”

_I am sorry? What business have you with a resident of Vyrantium?_

“After the Nest, I sold my swords in Amaranthine,” she explained. “When I went to get them back, the fat bastard had already sold Starfang. He said the man who bought it was a collector from—”

_From Vyrantium. I see._ Warm beats counted a steady rhythm within the rock. _What marvelous efficiency your luck has won you! It would seem as though you have a destination, then._

“Yeah, looks like it.”

Neither Safir nor the crystal in her hand said a word for a short while, their breath and beat crashing into silence like a spell over a barrier. Safir, with her elbows on her knees and her eyes flitting from star to star, felt a measure of contentment and certainty in her renewed determination.

_If nothing more need be discussed…_ ticked the stone eventually.

“Do you remember that time during the Blight when our camp was ambushed at night?” 

Tapping as if taken aback, the stone flushed hot in surprise. _I recall. ‘Tis not a fond memory; why do you ask of it?_

“Remember how I got tackled by that shriek and couldn’t get out from under it?” asked Safir, her lips stretching into a grin.

_Ah, yes!_ Morrigan laughed. _You had run it through with your sword, if I am not mistaken._

“And then it fell on me and it took Alistair forever to find me.”

_He went pale as the moon when you first called to him. He never did admit it, but I swore that he’d thought you a ghost!_

“Oh, he did,” Safir giggled, resting her head in her hand. “He told me later, in private.”

_I_ knew _it! The Crow now owes me a fair few sovereigns._

“You made _bets_?” she shouted, bending forward as she laughed. With a rapidly dissolving regard for the time, Morrigan and Safir traded many tales of their adventures, and there they lingered, shedding their cares and worries to replace them with the comfort of shared memory. They kept awake until the excitement of conversation gave way to exhaustion and lulled them to sleep with neither a farewell nor a good night. Yawning into the late morning, Safir packed away her camp quickly, eager to leave the desert for more hospitable lands. She kept the river on her right until she lost count of the days and finally returned to the western feet of the Hunterhorns. Finding no sign of the outlaws while on her way to the Wardens’ path, Safir arrived at its entrance while still atop a saddle.

“I gotta be honest with you, Piska. This probably isn’t a good idea for you.” Safir rolled her knuckles over the scales behind his head. “I think this is where we say goodbye.”

The dracolisk clicked his jaw and huffed at the air blowing down from the mountain. Safir hopped down from his saddle and slipped Fang out of its sheath. Sawing away at leather and string, she undid the saddle and removed the reins, granting freedom to the beast that had served her well.

“Go on then,” she told him, gently pushing away his snout. “Go do whatever it is that dracolisks do in their free time.”

Blinking at her once or twice, Piska turned around and departed quickly and unceremoniously, leaving Safir alone to decide what would go up the mountain with her. Kicking the saddlebags open, she fished out the essentials. In addition to basic supplies like rope and flint, in her rucksack went the cure along with the rest of Morrigan’s clues—minus the vial—and a few days’ worth of rations for the road. Fastened on a loop on the outside of the pack were Mellek’s bow and quiver. A pair waterskins hung on either side of her hips, one resting on Moonmolar’s scabbard. Without further need of a headscarf, Safir unwrapped the bright cyan linen and held it in her fist. It billowed beautifully in the wind, enough that she decided against discarding it and instead tied it as a sash around her waist. Finally, she shouldered Morrigan’s heavy fur coat and stared up at the unforgiving range she would have to cross a second time. Bitter experience did little to ease the grueling climb or quicken its pace. She returned to Thedas, at last, from the outstretched arms of the Hunterhorns that led her to the Blasted Hills and beyond, where brief investigation revealed that, all said and done, she'd spent an entire month in the Big Empty Sand and it was now 9:40 Dragon. She passed through border cities in Nevarra and the Imperium, carefully snaking around roads villages on her way to the Nocen Sea. Six weeks of travel brought her to the city of Vyrantium from the forest river that split its map in half.

The smooth white walls stood nearly thirty feet high at the city’s edge, where the fast flowing river sped through a gate of iron bars flanked by two reinforced portcullises on the nearby shores. Wrapped from head to toe in red uniform, the city guards that kept watch over the gates with their staves lit like lanterns peered through the moving crowds. Safir kept her head down and hid herself in a group of entering laborers, passing into the city through the western side of its Southern Gates. She followed the twin roads that hugged the river into Vyrantium’s heart, entering a central square lined by markets that stood facing an enormous, spitting fountain cut from marble. Here, with the hood of a recently traded cloak drawn, Safir asked after Constantius’ base, finally learning its location after inadvertently running off several suspicious passersby. She wound through the streets on the city’s eastern side until she came upon the fancy two-story gallery with a facade of bannered stone. The elaborate building was draped all around with deep emerald flags bordered by golden embroidery. Safir climbed a small set of stairs to a pair of stately wooden doors and pushed one open, slipping into the shop and staring at the trinkets and antiques that surrounded her.

The entryway was gloomily lit by rushlights that glowed among the treasure that lined its walls. Further in, the gallery opened into a tiled hall replete with display stands carrying weapons, armor, and other artifacts. Safir spied a glint of silver gleaming in the firelight of an adjacent room. Excited, she peered through a wide doorway at the source of the flash: Starfang, resting on pegs above a stout fireplace. Just as she first lifted her boot to retrieve it, she was stopped in her tracks by the sudden appearance in the doorway of a red-robed man with greasy black hair and a needle-thin mustache. He smiled falsely at her through slightly yellowed teeth.

“Evening, madame,” he cooed in a full and sandy voice. He relished in the theater of introduction. “Are you in search of something extraordinary today?”

Caught on the back foot, Safir hesitated with a curious waggle of her brows. “I think I might be,” she finally answered. “Are you Constantius?”

“The very same!” The slippery collector bowed. “And now, it seems, you have me at a disadvantage. Who might I be speaking with, hm?”

“Someone who’s interested in being friends. I think we can help each other!” Straightening her shoulders, Safir thought to persuade with confidence. “You’ve got a lot of great stuff in here. I happen to be really good at finding great stuff.”

“Most intriguing,” Constantius teased with a finger on his lips. His warm smile was a poor mask for his uncertain narrow eyes. “Please, do tell me what you mean by all this.”

“I’ve got experience. Tons of it. I can fight, I can explore, and I can find rare artifacts. I’m willing to bring you anything I find, and guess what: you don’t even have to pay me!”

“My, but what an exquisite deal that would be! What do you want in return, if not payment?”

Safir leaned over his shoulder and pointed with a wink and a finger at the sword above the fireplace. “All I ask is that you let me use that runed silver sword over there. What do you say?”

Constantius rolled his eyes from side to side in careful deliberation. At length, he smiled graciously at her while nodding slowly. “No!” he abruptly snapped, all stern in an instant. “You offer your friendship with crossed fingers and a split tongue.”

“What?” Safir yelped, trying to salvage negotiations. “Of course not!”

“Do not bother lying!” he shook his head, eyes shut and nose in the air. “Constantius does not succeed by entering fool partnerships with blind trust. Please, rid my gallery of your treachery.”

“I promise, I’m not against you—”

“ _Out_!” he shouted, jabbing with a manicured nail at the building’s exit behind her. “Get out, or there will be consequences!”

“Alright, fine, you asshole!” Safir shouted as she stormed off. “I’m going!”

She shoved her way through the heavy double doors and stomped into the road, where she stepped around a roving pack of thugs whose path had crossed hers. They turned to enter the gallery she’d just left, and to her surprise, its proprietor held the door open for them. Curious, Safir listened for clues as the group slowly filtered in.

“Ready for another productive afternoon?” one of the men asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t _believe_ ,” lied a black haired tough with a thick beard and an olive cloak. “Every day under the sun is brighter when you work for this greedy ponce.”

The doors closed behind them, leaving Safir alone in the street with an inventive gleam in her narrowed eyes.


	19. The Blood Mage Wears Prada

Outside the gallery, Safir trained an inquisitive scowl on the double doors in the group’s wake. She supposed it made sense; being a dealer and collector, Constantius would have to protect his business somehow. She pursed her lips as the rowdy thugs quieted down and, presumably, listened intently to a briefing or a battle plan. They would make a traditional theft difficult, but perhaps with a little persuasion and the right amount of leverage, she could use them to her advantage. She had the beginnings of a plan but nowhere to stage it from. Betting on the mercenaries’ visit being a long one, Safir sped away from the gallery and scouted Vyrantium’s streets for a friendly inn.

Vyrantium’s busy harbor marked it as the center of trade in the Imperium. Its position on the southernmost shores of the Nocen Sea gave it ample protection from threats in the north and limited aggressing armies to a single angle of approach by land. The sprawling marketplace directly south of the harbor district was the city’s beating heart, and it was there that Safir braved seething crowds and dense mazes of merchant stalls to find a tavern in which to disappear. She entered the Laughing Madcap Inn through a tiny, rickety red door set into a nearly deserted building with black wooden walls heavy with dampness. The inn’s wet scent fell over her as she entered and rung the rusted black bell that sat on top of an unattended reception desk. 

“A room’s five a night, eight if there’s two of you,” said a voice without an owner. Safir searched unsuccessfully for the woman to whom it belonged. “I’d offer you a dinner, too, but times have got a bit rough, you understand.” 

“Who am I speaking with?” Safir asked, her head still swiveling about the room. 

“Rodahlia Bexus, of course!” the voice answered. “I’m down here!”

Safir peered over the counter’s far edge and met eyes with a dwarven woman of middle age with black hair and bags under her sleepless eyes. “You’re in charge of this place?”

“Sure am! Ever since my mother passed,” answered Rodahlia. “Would you like a room?”

“Yeah, I would, but… I didn’t expect to see a dwarf running things here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see an armed elf ask for a room!”

Safir wiggled her ears on reflex. “Fair enough. Are you from Orzammar?”

“I was, until my father’s bad business got us the boot. We made it all the way over here somehow, and now it’s as much my city as Orzammar used to be! What about you?”

“Ferelden,” Safir answered curtly. “About that room…”

“Ah, right!” Rodahlia chirped, thumbing a keychain. “Five a night, if it’s just you.”

Safir dropped five silver pieces on the counter where the stout innkeeper could reach them, then left her rucksack and Mellek’s bow in her room before slipping back outside and returning to Constantius’ gallery. She watched the green and gold bannered showroom from the outside, ticking away the moments that made up her dull wait. Not long after sundown, the heavy doors finally creaked open and out came the muscle men in Constantius’ employ. Hiding out behind a tree, she peered into the group to pick out the bearded man who’d complained about him earlier. She learned through eavesdropping that he and several others would be meeting for drinks at a nearby tavern, which presented her with a perfect opportunity. She slunk after them after they rounded a corner, listening to what she could of their conversation while staying hidden in the shadows.

“What’re you on about now, Avitus?” one of the thugs accused the bearded one, socking him on the shoulder as they walked. “Not trying to upset the boss, are we?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the man answered. He ran his fingers through messy black hair while chuckling at his own comedy. “I should have taken that shopkeeper’s offer last week!”

“The one who wanted you to botch a job on purpose?”

“That’s the one! He offered me twenty silver just to let him miss a payment, but I was stupid. Too worried about what I was going to drink that night to cause trouble.” The man called Avitus shook his head in regret. “After last job, though, I’d let him off for free just to watch Constantius soil himself.”

“You’re all talk, you bastard!” said the other man, laughing in stride.

On the way to the tavern, Safir overheard many more of the bearded merc’s complaints about Constantius and made her final decisions on how best to gain his assistance. With the moon hanging in the dimming dusk, she followed them to the outside of a seedy tavern and entered two minutes after they did.

Safir eyed the man from a booth in the corner of the tavern. He sat away from his fellows directly in front of the barkeep, pulling back his frayed hood and running a set of dirty fingers through his disheveled black hair as if it needed to look any messier than it already did. He lazily held two fingers up at the barman to ask for his drink, which was a rather tall tankard of ale that he drank in only a few minutes. Once he’d finished it and set the tankard aside, she sidled over to the bar and took the seat next to his.

“Buy you a drink?” she asked, studying his face and trying to make hers look friendly. He furrowed a pair of thick black brows at her, staring down his sharp nose and scratching his beard. 

“Well, this is a first!” was all he offered as a response along with a surprised huff. He had a low, musical growl of a voice that she felt in her chest as he spoke.

“What is?” Safir wondered, pulling a stray lock of her silver hair behind her ear with what she hoped was a charming smile.

“No one’s ever offered to buy _me_ a drink before.” The man paused a moment and looked at her curiously. His dark, pensive eyes roamed around as if he were searching for a hint of her intentions. “It’s unexpected, especially from your kind.”

Safir cocked her head to the side a bit and ran her thumb under the lobe of her ear. She watched his reaction to gauge how he felt about her being an elf before deciding how to respond. His eyes would not budge from hers. 

“I hope the surprise is a pleasant one, then,” she flirted with a slow waggle of her eyebrows.

Instead of answering with words, the man simply had a fit of laughter and shook his head at her. He put one elbow on the counter and rested his head on his fist. “You want something, don’t you? Out with it.”

“How are you so sure? What if I’m just looking for decent conversation and a warm body to get me through the night?”

“For a start, sex is easy to come by in a city like Vyrantium if you have half a brain and look in the right places. You’re being much too forward,” he explained, waving his free hand as if to correct her approach. “Second, if a human wants to bed an elf here, he’ll go to a brothel or use a slave. And if an elf wants to bed a human, that elf does not live in Tevinter. You’re not from here.”

Safir threw her hands up in acceptance of the defeat. “You caught me,” she confirmed. “I do want something from you. But I figured I might ply you with alcohol before asking.”

The mercenary gave her a chuckle while he shook his finger no. “Not happening, I’m sorry to say. Who are you, anyway?”

“Would you believe it if I said I was the Hero of Ferelden?”

The man squinted at her for a moment before answering, apparently weighing the likelihood of meeting a Fereldan Warden in Tevinter against that of meeting a good liar in a bar. 

“I might,” he finally breathed. “Would you believe it if I told you I was Archon Radonis?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then I’ll be more honest with you, Hero.” The man extended a hand with which to shake hers and leaned slightly forward in a seated bow. “My name is Orso Avitus.”

Safir took his hand in hers but did not return his bow. Instead she gave him a wry smirk as she spoke her name. “Safir Tabris.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he drawled sarcastically, quickly straightening himself. “Now then, onto business! What is it you want, Warden Tabris of Ferelden?”

“For one thing, I want you never to call me that again for as long as you live. Think you can manage that?”

“It wouldn’t be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. What is it you really wanted from me?”

Safir crossed her arms and squinted at Orso, wondering if it was too early to trust him with her request. She settled on testing the waters first with a harmless question instead. “I’ve been watching you for a little while. You don’t seem to be very loyal to your employer. What’s the story there?”

“Story? There’s no story,” he refuted, his brows scrunching. “No, he’s just an asshole. I don’t respect him. Don’t particularly like him, either. But he pays.”

“And you’re not worried that he’ll stop paying if he notices that?”

Orso glanced side to side and scratched the bridge of his long nose before leaning in to respond. “Safir, you’re in the Tevinter Imperium, and I’m just hired muscle for a second-rate swindler. When’s the last time you heard of a thug without a job?”

“Fair point,” she nodded. “So if someone asked you to act against that swindler, you wouldn’t have any issues with that?”

“Depends how you mean. I’m not going to kill him, if that’s what you want,” he said, leaning back and sweeping the air with his palm. “But anything short of that, sure, why not? Someone else will always be willing to pay me the very next day to rough up a reluctant debtor.”

“Good to know,” she muttered, tapping her chin and leaning against the bar. She looked around at the various bottles and kegs that lined the wall behind it.

“So for the third time, Safir, what is it that you want?”

Safir blinked and sighed before meeting his eyes again. “My sword.”

“You _have_ a sword,” Orso helpfully noted, gesturing to Moonmolar, which hung at her hip.

“I have _one_ sword. I prefer to carry two.” Safir nodded at him with raised brows and the slightest hint of a grin. “And I think you can guess who has my missing one.”

“And if I were to guess at its appearance, I’d say it was long, shiny, and silver, with glowing blue runes etched along its flat. Is that the one?”

“That’s the one,” she affirmed.

“And you want me to help you get it back. Have you not considered buying it off him?”

“Not really, seeing as it’s my fucking sword.”

“That’s just as well,” Orso laughed, running his fingers through his tousled hair again. “He wouldn’t sell it to you.”

Safir paid closer attention to the onyx mess that topped Orso’s head. Not a single three inch long tuft of it was tidy, and pieces of it stuck out at sharp angles in different directions. It was very much unlike the hair she’d come to expect of citizens of the Imperium, and it seemed in sore need of a good cleaning.

“What’s the deal with… all that?” she asked him, making circles with her finger while pointing at his hair. “Do you make it messy on purpose?”

“What makes you say that?” He seemed slightly taken aback by the question, his dark eyes staring worriedly at the pointed clump of hair that jutted out from the center of his forehead.

“You keep running your fingers through it. Is it a point of pride for you, having hair that unkempt? Or do you just not like to wash?”

“You’re rather sharp-tongued for a complete stranger, aren’t you?” said Orso after a chuckle, running his hand through his hair yet again as if to spite her. “Truth is, I couldn’t really give a toss about how it looks. I’m Soporati, and no fancy haircut is going to change that. So maybe you’re right, and it is a point of pride. My way of telling the greasy-haired elitists who run this country that I care fuck all about their expectations.”

“That’s an interesting way of rebelling against authority,” Safir mocked. “You should start a campaign. Change Tevinter for the better, one messy head at a time.”

Making a rather rude gesture with his finger, Orso changed course. “Or maybe I just don’t like to wash. But given your rather desperate efforts, I don’t think it hurts me when it comes to bedding strange women.” He narrowed his eyes seductively and winked at her as he finished the thought with a ridiculous blown kiss. “Now. About this sword. I assume you have a plan for taking it back?”

“Not exactly,” Safir answered, still suppressing the urge to laugh at his absurd display. “That’s why I came to you, after all. Think you can help me get it back from your boss?”

“I would love to!” he declared, slapping the counter with a heavy palm and beaming at her with an inflated smile. “But I can’t, I’m afraid.”

“And why the fuck not?” Safir demanded, sharpening her eyes at him. “I thought you weren’t loyal to him.”

“I’m not.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He hasn’t got it,” Orso explained matter-of-factly. 

“Don’t bullshit me. I saw it on display in his showroom.”

“Not quite. You saw _a_ sword in his showroom, but not yours.”

Safir knit her brows and turned away from him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means the sword Constantius has is a fake,” he told her, seemingly relishing in delivering the bad news. “And, it means you have a very foul mouth.”

“Years of practice. You said the sword is fake?”

“That’s right,” Orso nodded slowly. “A replica he commissioned to soothe his broken pride after the real sword was stolen from him by a maleficar almost a year ago.”

“What would a blood mage want with my sword?” she wondered, scratching her head.

“Can’t say.” Orso crossed his arms and sighed, his expression turning somber. “All I know is he’s a despicable villain. Constantius is no saint, but the man who has your real sword could make a desire demon blush with his depravity. Few people in this world are truly evil, but I believe he’s one of them.”

“Alright,” Safir nodded, her voice a small and quiet rasp. “So how do we get it back from him?”

“You’re joking, right? I mean, you’re not actually serious?”

Safir stared at him blankly in place of an answer.

“You _did_ just hear me tell you that the man we’re talking about is a vile maleficar criminal, didn’t you?”

“And you _do_ know who you’re talking to, don’t you? I fought an archdemon and lived.”

Orso opened his mouth as if to argue, but seemed to think better of it. “That’s a good point.”

“So who is this asshole, anyway?” she asked, satisfied that she’d eliminated his doubt. “Do you know how to find him?”

“Even better,” he teased. “I already know where his base of operations is.”

“That’s lucky.”

“Not exactly. I worked a few jobs for him some years ago.”

“And I take it that’s how you came to be so well acquainted with his character?” Safir clenched her jaw slightly, wondering to herself just what sort of work Orso had done in his past.

“You’re astute,” he told her, looking slightly downcast. “He pays better than any of the hustlers and outlaws you’ll find in the city. I made more coin working under him for a handful of months than Constantius pays in a year.”

“Why did you leave, if the pay was so good?”

“Some mercenaries are happy to do anything for a few sovereigns, no matter how cruel. I’m not one of them.” Orso finished the thought with a quick shake of his head.

“Why do you say that?” Safir asked, appreciating the remorseful look in his eyes. 

“I suppose you could call it a general aversion to slicing people open,” he answered curtly. “Something you must be quite practiced at, wanting to walk around with two swords.”

“I was a Warden,” Safir sighed, waving away the assumption. “Slicing people open was essentially my job during the Blight.”

“Not the darkspawn?”

“Well, of course, the darkspawn. But not everyone in Ferelden was content to let me and… the _other_ Warden do our job.” Safir paused, hoping to avoid dredging up bad memories. “Anyway, we’re getting distracted. Where is this blood mage’s base?”

“It’s not far. Only about a day’s march south of the city.” Orso scratched his beard just below his ear as he looked at her with arched brows and curious eyes. “Have a map? I could mark it for you.”

Safir pulled her wrinkled map of the Imperium out from her weathered rucksack and set it flat on the bar. Orso leaned in to study it a moment before he marked it with the tip of a short dagger he’d produced from his belt and dipped in a nearby glass of red wine. He pointed to a spot near a lake several miles to the southeast of Vyrantium. After staring at it for a while to internalize its location, Safir stuffed it into her sack and hopped down from her high chair, turning to face the bar’s exit.

“You’ve been helpful, Orso,” she thanked him just as her first step toward the door was interrupted by a hand on her arm. She turned around to see Orso, with one brow raised, question her departure.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he interrogated.

“To get my sword back. Where else?”

“And you’re planning on going alone? That’s suicide.”

“Well, I don’t see anyone lining up to help me take a sharp piece of metal from a deranged criminal,” Safir explained herself, her narrowing eyes digging into his. “Who am I meant to be going with?”

Orso hesitated, a clear display that he thought the answer was obvious. “Me, of course.”

“You?”

“Me.”

“A minute ago you were soiling your trousers about how evil this guy is,” Safir jabbed.

“Hey, I may not a Warden like you, but I’m no coward either.” he asserted. “I’m going with you.”

Safir’s lack of an immediate response meant that she and Orso bore into one another with their eyes for a few long seconds before she noticed the increased pressure on her arm. Breaking from his gaze to look at his hand, she only then realized that it had been there throughout the whole exchange. Orso quickly withdrew it as the same realization apparently dawned on him.

“As I said,” he continued after clearing his throat, “it’s suicide to go alone. I know the compound well and I can help you plan. I’m going.”

“Okay,” Safir shrugged.

“Okay?”

“You’ve made your case,” she clarified. “I hope you’re up to this.”

“I am,” Orso confirmed, adding a single stern nod to his words.

“Great. Meet me here tomorrow morning and be ready to march.”

“Now, now,” he stopped her, patting the air with his open palms. “I seem to remember you asking to buy me a drink. I’ve already aided you once. The least you could do is make good on that offer and refill my mug, don’t you think?”

Safir dipped her head and raised a mocking eyebrow as she regarded him with a dismissive scoff. “Meet me here tomorrow morning,” she repeated and stepped out the door.

Returning to the Laughing Madcap under cover of a darker sky, Safir kept herself busy in her rented room. Moonmolar lay over her crossed legs while she dragged a hardy whetstone down its length, the sharp screech of rock on metal scratching at her ears. With each stroke, she imagined Starfang in its place and welcomed the excitement of reunion with her favored blade. After that, only one obstacle separated her from the cure she so fiercely desired.


	20. Ocean's Two

Having nourished herself on a breakfast of grilled vegetables and an appallingly bland steak of unknown origin, Safir walked out of Vyrantium’s already bustling market to make for the tavern. She reached it after a few minutes of brisk walking, intending to wait inside for the help she’d recruited the previous night to arrive. Instead, she found him sitting on the ground by its entrance next to a remarkably full-looking rucksack, picking dirt out from underneath his fingernails. Apparently the task was quite thrilling, because he didn’t look away from it for a moment even when she stopped less than a yard short of stepping on his toes.

“ _Ahem_.” Safir tried her best to make the grin on her face appear as disrespectful as possible while she waited for him to notice she was there. Instead, he kept picking his nails and insisted that he had no coin to spare. “ _Ahem_!” 

“Oh, for fuck’s… I didn’t realize that was you!” he sputtered out, scrambling to pick himself off the ground and shoulder his pack in a single motion. Like before, he wore a dark olive cloak over the rest of his clothes, though he’d chosen to leave his hood down despite the morning sun beaming harshly into the city. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I expect you’ll want to be leaving soon. The compound isn’t far, but I brought extra supplies just in case.”

“Like what?” Safir asked, sweeping up and down his figure to see what she could learn just from looking. He held himself proudly enough, like most people do who aren’t shy about getting into a scrap.

“More food than we’d need to finish the march twice, plus a few of your basic frontiering supplies. Flints and steel, for instance. I also brought a pry bar and some rope.” Safir’s gaze roved from the dark leather boots that covered his tapping feet to the mud-stained trousers whose original color she could not even begin to guess at. From there, her eyes followed a faded jacket of dark teal gambeson material up to where a beige leather lace held it closed over his collarbones. “I brought a compass as well, though I doubt we’ll have much use of it since I know the way to the base from memory.” After a pause, he started again, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m just looking at what you’re wearing,” Safir explained, now squinting her eyes at his forearms. He hadn’t even put on any bracers. “Is that the best you can do?”

“What?”

“You’re almost completely unarmored except for that jacket, and even that thing looks like it’s seen better days. You sure you want to chance this without better gear?”

Orso widened his stance as he surveyed his own outfit, brushing his hands down the front of his coat and turning his boots as if to check for holes. “I get paid to punch people in the face, Safir. It’s not peaceful work, but it isn’t exactly dangerous either.”

“Well, infiltrating a blood mage crime lord’s base to steal a sword certainly sounds dangerous to me,” Safir told him. “I can sneak around with the best of them, but if this thing goes sideways and he’s as dangerous as you say he is…”

“Right, point taken. I suppose you’ll just have to try your best not to get caught, then, won’t you?”

“Speaking of which, we don’t have a plan yet. It’d be pretty tricky getting caught in the act when we don’t even know what the act _is_. What do you say we table this discussion on the piss poor state of your gear until we’re actually in business?” Orso agreed quickly and perhaps eagerly to postpone her appraisal. “Now, about this compound. What can you tell me about it?”

“Not here. Too many ears.” Sparing a shifty glance to each side, Orso beckoned Safir to follow him and sped off down the road that led back to Constantius’ gallery. He turned abruptly into an alleyway between an inn and a tanner’s shop and stopped at the dark brick wall that blocked the way about thirty feet from the road. “We should be able to talk here without risking being heard,” he said, resting a ginger hand on her shoulder while he stared over her head and out into the alley’s entrance. “Okay, I don’t think we’re being followed.”

“Are you always this paranoid, or are you just putting on a show for me?” Safir accused, picking up his wrist with two fingers and giving him back his hand. “I may be a stranger to this city, but I haven’t survived this long by being witless. If we were followed, I’d have known.”

“Really? Because I think that man over there might disagree.”

Safir turned on her heel instantly, her hands already halfway to their respective hilts. “ _Where_?!”

She stood on guard and watched the entrance with suspicion and alarm for much too long before she finally realized she’d been made to look a fool. Turning back around, she saw Orso barely containing a grin behind his thick beard.

“Yes, I think you’ll have to forgive me for not trusting your innate sense of awareness,” he finally said. Safir pursed her lips at him, upset that she found herself wanting to laugh, too.

“Fuck yourself, Orso. Tell me about the compound.”

Orso looked around himself before picking up the splintered shaft of a broken broom and jabbing it into the dirt at their feet. “It looks a bit like this,” he said, tracing an angular light bulb shape into the sand and adding a large rectangle near its center. At each corner of the light bulb, he drew a small circle. “This is the outer wall. Lots of watchtowers, but they were mostly for show when I worked jobs for Dovatocus—he’s called Dovatocus, by the way. Still, not all of them are unmanned. We should treat them as though there’s a pair of eyes looking for us from each one. _This_ ,” he added, pointing with the broom to the rectangle on the inside, “is the main base. It’s where Dovatocus presides over his entire operation, as well as where he keeps most of his trophies. Underneath the main hall is a basement floor he uses as storage space or as a prison, depending on his mood.”

“With you so far,” Safir nodded. “What’s the terrain like around the base?”

“Kind of rocky out front, though there’s not much cover other than a patchy little wood that stretches north. Not far _behind_ the base, there’s a sudden drop in elevation, maybe about a hundred feet or so. Beyond that, there’s a big pond and a bigger forest south of it. If we want to make a quick getaway without worrying about prying eyes, that’s our best bet.

“Of course, none of that is useful right now,” Orso said, pointing up at the sky. “Not with this sun. They’d spot us a mile off, so we’ll have to do this at night. The way I see it, there are two main problems we have to get around for this to work: we have no way of knowing which watchtowers are guarded and which ones aren’t, and once we’ve dealt with that there’s still the matter of actually getting into the base proper without being caught.”

“I can move quietly when I want to,” Safir declared, stepping a circle around Orso without making a noise. An unnecessary move, and more than a little showy, but something inside had told her to get back at him for his earlier stunt. “Give me a few shadows to hide in and the rest falls into place naturally. Here’s your coin purse back, by the way,” she finished with a toss.

Orso raised his brows while staring down at the blue velvet bag that now sat in his palms. “Impressive! Most impressive, Safir. But trust me when I tell you this won’t be a walk in the park. Dovatocus keeps security pretty tight, and no matter how good you are, it’ll be hard just sneaking in.”

“Alright, well how hard are you talking? Are there guards everywhere, like a palace? I’ve handled that before.”

“You _have_?”

“Yeah, a few times, actually. Oh, or is it like a prison? Don’t worry, I’ve sneaked through a prison before.”

Orso shuddered and wrinkled his nose in what looked like poorly disguised fear. His voice higher in pitch than she’d ever heard it, he asked, “You mean like a darkspawn prison?”

“Oh yeah, those, too.”

“Who _are_ you?” he breathed, wide-eyed and possibly even a little starstruck.

“I’m just a fuckin’ city elf, man.” Safir shrugged. “I never wanted to be a damn hero.”

“Typically, heroes are inspirational characters. With you, I’m not sure if I should count myself lucky that we’re on the same side or be terrified that you want me along at all.”

“I think both is good, honestly.”

“Way to reassure me,” Orso joked.

“So, are you still shitting yourself over me sneaking in?”

“No, not after hearing _that_ résumé. Dovatocus’ base is heavily guarded, sure, but it’s not a fucking dungeon buried in the Deep Roads.” Orso kicked the dirt around to erase the picture he’d drawn. “You’ll hardly bat an eye at it, I’m sure.”

“Great. So the question remains as to how we’ll get past the watchtowers,” Safir said, tapping her fingers together in thought. “Any ideas on that front?”

“Not any good ones. Distraction always works best in these situations. Use a lure to break the perimeter and go in through the weak point. We do it all the time when someone hires bodyguards to avoid paying their debts to Constantius.”

“If you use it all the time, it sounds like a perfectly serviceable idea.”

“Yes, well, it’s normally used on bodyguards. Dovatocus has much more dangerous men keeping watch for him, and he pays them well enough to kill without asking questions.” Orso hesitated a moment, running his fingers through his hair; Safir had wondered how long he would take to do it again. “The problem is, if I set a lure to give you an opening, they’re going to want to know where it came from. Which means—”

“They’ll try their damndest to find and kill you,” Safir finished the thought on his behalf. “I get it. Not all traps have to be set from up close, though.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Not sure yet. But I have a bow you can use to keep some distance between yourself and the traps. That should buy you enough time to get into the trees and wait for me to meet you with the sword, shouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know what sort of trap uses a bow and arrow as its trigger, Safir. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not a good enough shot to kill the watchtower guards at a distance, even if I wanted to.” Orso cocked his head to the side and studied Mellek’s bow where it hung behind her arm. “Plus, that’s a shortbow. I couldn’t get close enough to use it on them without getting killed first.”

“All valid points, but I didn’t say anything about killing the guards. Lots of things can be done with a well-placed arrow.”

“Such as?”

“Use your imagination,” Safir suggested. “Just think what we could do with a bit of hay and some whale oil. We could set a few fires.”

“And by the time the guards reach them to investigate, I’ll be long gone and you’ll be on your merry way inside.”

“Exactly. And then it’s just getting _out_ that’s the problem,” said Safir. “Is the base small enough for me to get in and out before the guards come back?”

“No, you won’t have enough time,” Orso said, tapping two fingers on his bearded chin. “I may have some ideas on that front, though. The best way out of the compound would be through the sewers. Problem is, the sewers are attached to the prison.”

“Which we’ve already established I can sneak through.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. There’s only one door into the prison, and it leads into a narrow flight of stairs with guards waiting on the other side. You’d never make it out undetected.”

Safir pulled Fang a few inches out of its sheath and angled its flat so that Orso could study it. “I guess I’ll have to improvise, then.”

“Well, you certainly don’t lack for confidence,” Orso said. He put his palm over the pommel of Fang’s hilt and urged it back into its sheath.

“When you’ve killed a dragon for fun, you find that there’s not much use for humility anymore.”

Orso didn’t seem terribly surprised by her latest boast. Apparently he was beyond expecting any normality of her exploits. “Even so,” he cautioned, “let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. It’ll be a big fight, and…”

Orso’s eyes narrowed suddenly and he refused to finish his thought even upon her asking. He just nodded slowly as though trying to come to an agreement with himself. Without a word, he brushed past Safir and sped away into the busy road outside the alley. She followed him without hesitation, though not without a few complaints. 

“What the hell are you doing, Orso?” she asked while still trailing behind him.

“Constantius’ gallery,” was his only answer. Rolling her eyes, Safir kept pace behind him. When they reached the collector’s green bannered building after a minute or two of brisk walking, she hung back and allowed Orso to enter without her. She kicked rocks until he finally emerged a while later with a sword at his hip. 

“What the fuck’s that?” Safir asked, pointing at the blade. “I thought you didn’t like slicing people open.”

Orso shrugged and shot her a glance that said he’d explain later. 

“Wait a minute,” Safir continued, ignoring him. “That hilt… it’s just like Starfang’s. That’s the replica, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he finally confirmed.

“Okay… _Why_ do you have the replica of my sword?”

“I told Constantius I found a buyer for it,” he said, patting down at the air to quiet her down. “Said it would help him recuperate his loss and then some. Took some convincing, but he came around at the promise of coin.”

“You’ve just told me how you got the sword. I still find myself wondering why.”

“You know, there’s value in discretion, Safir.” Orso pushed her at the shoulder to start her back on the road. “I would have thought someone as good at sneaking as you are would understand that.”

Safir scoffed at his caution but nonetheless agreed to keep quiet about the sword until later, if only to avoid him putting another hand on her and telling her to shut it. Once they were nearer to the city gates and far beyond the gallery, she asked after the sword again, this time demanding to know why he’d taken it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he complained. “You can take it with you to Dovatocus’ compound. Replace the real sword with the fake once you’ve found it. It should buy you some more time to get out safely.”

“That’s… actually pretty smart.”

“Well don’t act so surprised.”

“No offense, Orso, but your looks don’t exactly scream ‘intelligence’. It would have been shocking enough to learn you could even spell your own name.” Safir watched with eager interest to see how this insult would land, but when its target offered little in the way of a reaction, she opted instead to change the subject. “What’s Constantius’ deal, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, he’s not exactly the trusting sort, is he?”

“You could say that again,” Orso agreed, rolling his eyes in a high arc. “He’s a paranoid little prick. He won’t even reveal his name to people.”

“Really? I first heard it from a Blacksmith in Amaranthine, and he was happy enough to confirm it when we met.”

“Constantius is an alias, didn’t you know?”

“Clearly not,” admitted Safir. Remembering what his personality was like brought a certain appropriateness to the name. “Makes sense that he’d pick something as pretentious as that, though.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Orso laughed. “Anyway, he says he’ll only reveal his true name to someone he trusts fully.”

“So, what _is_ his real name?”

“I don’t know. He also says he trusts no one fully.”

Safir groaned heavily, having found Constantius’ behavior obnoxious to the point of disgust. “What an asshole.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Orso. “My complaining about him is what drew you to me in the first place, remember?”

“Hey, while we’re on the subject,” Safir started.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask… Orso isn’t like most names I’ve heard in Tevinter. Usually it’s something pretentious and ridiculous like Ignatius or Avagantamos. Or Constantius.”

Orso seemed to fight against himself a bit as he prepared a response, his lips scrunching up on one side. “Hm. Well. Orso isn’t my real name, either. It means bear in Tevene.”

“And how did you come by that epithet?” Safir wondered.

“When I was twenty, a couple of my friends dared me to punch a sleeping bear.”

“And you actually did it?”

Orso nodded. “They called me bear-puncher for a while, and eventually they decided I was an honorary bear. Thus, I became Orso.”

“Incredible,” Safir drawled, and for once she actually meant it. “But hang on. If Orso is just an honorary title…”

Orso sighed and bowed his head mournfully. “Perennali Avitus.”

Safir only just managed to keep herself from laughing, only letting the hint of a snort escape her control. “I can see why you prefer Orso.”

“We can’t all have names as pretty as yours. Now forget I told you mine, and let’s get going.”

A short while and a supply run later, Orso led Safir through the city’s Southern Gates, this time on the eastern side of the river. With the sun still at a morning slant, they followed the river south until the road veered east and split the forest in two. Endless trees gave them cover on either side, and they marched until the light of morning became the light of noon and the light of noon became the light of evening. Uneager to travel on empty stomachs, they set a temporary camp and set a fire to cook with. Safir, with nothing else to look at, found herself studying the beads of sweat that rolled down Orso’s face as he tended the fire. Grunting as he dusted his hands free of ash after adding more wood to the pile, he sat back and met her gaze.

“There’s something I should tell you,” he said. “About Dovatocus, that is.”

“Well go on.”

“If you get caught while sneaking around in his base, you should know that fighting your way out isn’t your only option.”

Orso had piqued her interest with that comment, and he clearly knew it, too. Rather than get to the point quickly and efficiently, he seemed to wait patiently for her curiosity to stir. “You gonna keep me waiting all day, there?”

“Dovatocus has a bit of a thing for Wardens.”

“A thing for Wardens?” Safir asked. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“He’s fascinated by them. I think it has to do with the weird blood stuff. Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Orso rubbed his palms together in thought as though deliberating on how much he should tell her. “What I mean to say is, if he finds you, it’s in your best interest that he know you’re a Warden. He won’t kill you if he knows that.”

“I don’t expect the alternative will be much better, though.”

“No, it won’t, but you’ll at least be breathing. And from there you can work out a way to save yourself. Maker knows I won’t be of much use to you if you get stuck inside.”

With food in her belly and a few more bits and bobs of helpful advice from Orso, Safir continued through the forest until night fell and the trees thinned enough to reveal a dusty landscape littered with jagged rocks and the occasional bit of scrub. They’d taken the rest of the journey to finalize their plans for the infiltration, and arrived at the compound with nothing left to do but kick it off. Using whatever dry branches and leaves they could find, they readied three bonfires that would burn just bright enough to catch the attention of the guards peering into the night from their towers. Wishing each other luck, Safir and Orso took their respective positions behind rocky cover and set the plan in motion.

With three well-placed shots, Orso lit the fires and bolted back into the trees, leaving Safir to her work. She kept watch over the towers from behind a sharp edged boulder and waited to see their occupants leave them behind. Soon enough, three men emerged from the compound and followed the firelights to their sources. Safir rushed out of cover the moment they’d gone far enough and sprinted toward the closest watchtower, which sat on the outer wall at its widest point. Just as Orso had described, the walls surrounding the complex were palisades, thick and tall and impossible to climb. Safir threw open her rucksack and withdrew her rope, grappling hook already attached. Swinging it in a wide circle, she tossed it up and into the watchtower, where it snagged onto its frame and held firm. She climbed up as quickly as she could manage and stuffed the rope away before heading deeper into the base. 

Security seemed to be pretty light once she was on the inside; a few guards made their rounds of the premises, but with wide and shadowed gaps between them. Safir took advantage of these darkened hollows and approached the main building’s white stone walls. She teased open a glass door set into one of the many stained glass arches that lined the hall and showed herself in. The base was enormous, almost twice the size of the estate she’d rescued Anora from during the Blight. Unfortunately for him, Dovatocus employed a much smaller complement of guards than the arl of Denerim had, and that made sneaking around inside trivial.

The place was a maze of wooden floors adorned with bright red rugs, every inch of it bathed in the light of pale blue torches. Even that forgotten old thaig full of ghosts had felt like a more welcoming place than Dovatocus’ palatial headquarters. Safir operated on pure guesswork, roving about the base and negotiating forks in the path at random until at last she entered what must have been the main hall. She floated into a spacious throne room with rows of support columns stretching from the floor to the arched ceiling. Three floors of mezzanines lined the perimeter, and from the looks of things, they were all empty. Glancing left and right, Safir found Starfang hanging behind the ornamented throne just as it had done in Constantius’ gallery. Perhaps that was a little joke at the collector’s expense. Either way, the prize was finally in sight and the vacant loop on her sword belt had never before felt so empty. Safir crossed the room as quickly as quietude would allow until she stood at last just a few feet away from the sword she’d parted with so many years ago. Nerves fluttered loudly in her stomach when she extended a hand to take it down.

When only a few inches separated her fingers from the hilt, Safir found herself unable to move, trapped by a pressure that enveloped her entire body and made it feel three sizes too small for the organs it contained. She winced against the pain that wrapped itself around her, enduring the familiar grip of a crushing prison spell. The frantic beating of her heart was unbearable from within the cage. Moments after it had caught her, the field dragged her away from Starfang and spun her on her heel. Standing on one of the mezzanines at the end of the hall was a man she could only assume to be Dovatocus draped in black robes befitting of a villainous cliche and clutching a staff hewn from bone. Behind him were a pair of emaciated and barely clothed elves.

“We mustn’t take what is not ours, my dear,” sung the blood mage, his dark eyes alight with sadistic glee. A gaunt smile revealed yellow teeth that matched the blonde of his short cropped hair.

“H-how did… you kn-know?!” Safir demanded, straining against the spell just to breathe the words. Dovatocus hummed a vicious, prideful laugh as he stared down at her.

“Would you care to make an appearance, old friend?” he said at length, nodding slowly to his right. From behind a near wall, Orso strode into view caressing a large velvet sack. His features twisted into a sinister smile made more wicked by the gloomy blue light. “As it happens, it seems your dear accomplice was all too willing to give you up for a bit of coin. And here, I had no idea he kept such august company.”

“She’s a recent acquaintance, Dovatocus, all the easier to betray.”

Safir tore her eyes away from Dovatocus and drilled holes into Orso’s. Her blood ran hot and fast as she fought her way partly out of the cage, hungry for revenge.

“Ah ah ah,” Dovatocus cooed, wagging his finger at her. “Filas, if you please.”

Standing behind him, one of the elves drew a short knife and opened a hole in his own palm with it. Dovatocus closed his eyes and took in a deep breath at once, drunk with the power of blood. When he re-focused his attention on her, he added enough weight to the cage to paralyze her completely.

“That’s better,” he sighed. With a flick of his wrist, the spell dragged her backwards on approach to a doorway set into the wall behind the throne. “Thank you very much for this gift, Orso. She is most lively.”

Safir erupted at the sight of Orso’s satisfied smirk, her voice rasping and tearing as she screamed from behind the prison. “You are _dead_ , motherfucker! Do you hear me?! _Dead_!”

Orso simply chuckled as Safir floated down a set of stairs and the door shut in front of her.


	21. Do The

Safir pressed her back against the cobbled stone that formed the wall of her cell. The prison stunk of dampness and rot. 

She sat with her elbows on her knees and stared ahead into the gloom waiting for something, anything, to happen. Dovatocus’ spell had dragged her down here and kept her from fighting back against the guards who confiscated her weapons and threw her into her cage, locking the rusted iron bars behind her. At her best guess, that had been half an hour ago.

Throughout that half hour, she’d done nothing but stare blankly ahead and think of revenge. Oh, but revenge would taste so sweet. The place was noiseless aside from an irritating drip bouncing into her ears from somewhere in the back of the prison. That was likely the sewer Orso had mentioned. Safir’s lips curled into a grin as she imagined holding a man’s head under the festering water until he finally stopped struggling. Her fingers twitched in giddy anticipation at just the thought, but vengeance would have to be put on hold. Each time she’d been put in a cell prior to this one, there had been a guard to tempt or an unexpected ally to help her out. Dovatocus’ prison contained neither of those things.

So she waited.

She waited for the moment those iron bars would be unlocked again and she’d be free. Free to run. Free to retake her swords. Free to _kill_ with them. She hadn’t been so eager to split someone’s flesh since Vaughan Kendells had cowered before her.

Before she could get too excited about the prospect of sinking Starfang deep into his gut, a series of arrogantly slow footsteps tapped ever nearer from somewhere to the right. A low and menacing hum soon joined them, and shortly after Dovatocus himself sidled into view gingerly hugging his staff. Safir met his eyes with contempt that would give even an ogre pause. In return, Dovatocus fixed her with a curious, almost pitying stare. 

“How are you finding things?” he asked. “I hope the accommodations are to your liking.”

Safir didn’t say a word, instead picturing what his throat would look like after she carved a gash into it.

“It is impolite not to answer a question when it is asked of you.”

His blood spilled out in waves, splashing onto the floor and staining his robes.

“I _said_ ,” he started, putting on a sneer and sharpening his voice with an edge, “it is impolite to ignore a question!”

The crimson puddle spread across the ground as he fell forward onto his knees.

“Answer me!”

Dovatocus’ sudden shout finally stirred Safir out of her imagined slaughter. She leaned further back into the wall and watched him slam the butt of his staff onto the ground, causing a few purple wisps to spark out at the point of impact. His furious eyes calmed gradually as his ragged breathing returned to normal and he adopted a look of remorse.

“I apologize,” he sighed, breaking eye contact for a moment as if addressing himself more than her. He brushed a hand back over his hair to resettle it. “I do not wish to be hard with you. You are a guest, after all. A most prized guest.”

“So, let me get this straight,” said Safir, circling him with her outstretched fingers. “In addition to being an evil son of a bitch, you’re also completely insane?”

Dovatocus increased the pressure of his grip on the staff, a faint purple glow emanating from its lower tip. “I have something of a quick temper, you see. It is best that you avoid provoking it. Things will be better for both of us that way.”

“What things?”

“Oh, just think! What marvelous fun we’ll have together, you and I!” He eyed her hungrily as he spoke, fawning over her like she was some rare artifact. Even overt sexual desire would be less off-putting than whatever motivated his obsession. “I was so delighted when dear Avitus informed me that he’d brought me a Warden. An actual Warden! And the Hero of Ferelden, no less. Ah, Miss Tabris, you truly cannot know what a pleasure it is to have you.”

For the first time since she’d been tossed into his prison, Safir felt a tinge of uncertainty. Dovatocus was not the type of enemy who could be intimidated into submission, and even levity failed to ease the tension in the air. Thank the Maker he was still the kind of problem that could be stabbed away.

“Will you say nothing to me, my dear?” he begged. Safir stared at the ground to avoid having to look at him. “No? Not a word? That’s too bad, then. I knew better than to think you’d be as excited about this arrangement as I am, but some manner of appreciation would be nice. It is quite alright, though. I will forgive you this, and trust that in time you will come to see me as a father, just as the others do.”

Safir’s blood turned to ice the moment Dovatocus presumed to take Cyrion’s place. “I already have a father,” she growled, crossing the cell and wrapping her fists around two of the iron bars that kept her from tearing him apart where he stood. “And when I kill you, I’m going to do it for _him_.”

Dovatocus purred at her slightly but offered no other response to the threat. His eyes sparkled as gears of thought turned behind them. Safir, put off by his sudden remarkable calm, loosed her grip on the iron bars and deflated in her posture, unable to maintain a belligerent façade in the face of such a placid opponent. With a slow blink, Dovatocus took his eyes off of hers and let them fall somewhere on the wall behind her. Then, without warning, he rapped the prison iron with the head of his staff, paralyzing her with a thought. Safir tensed immediately under the effects of his spell, struggling uselessly to break free from his containment. Even her lungs struggled to function in his grip. Try as she might to shout or scream, only a few wispy rasps escaped her lips as Dovatocus wrapped a gentle hand around hers.

He pried her fingers loose and pulled her hand toward himself, caressing it softly.

“You’ve no idea how much I have longed to meet someone with blood like yours.” Safir’s eyes widened in disgust as he brought her open palm closer to his face. Dovatocus quickly produced a tiny knife from somewhere in his black robes and dragged the blade delicately across her forefinger, splitting its skin and drawing a stark crimson line. He shut his eyes in sick delight, taking a long, deep breath. “What power,” he moaned. “What absolute power you carry here.”

Safir’s twitching brows jumped wildly, her eyes flitting rapidly between Dovatocus and the cut he’d made on her hand. Still under the paralysis spell, her hearing was consumed by the frantic beating of her own heart. 

Dovatocus dragged his index finger across the cut, staining its tip with her blood and rubbing it against his thumb. His eyes danced lazily across her face for a few moments while he guided her hand back behind the bars and withdrew his own. He gave her a smug, satisfied nod and was gone without another word, having left the way he came. A moment later, the spell released her and she dashed to the back of her cell to nurse the wound and nervously await her chance at escape.

More minutes rolled by in damp silence as Safir calmed and willed herself back to rationality. Ever did the leaky tunnels ring out as she stared at the cobblestone in front of her. Finally, just after the bleeding in her finger had stopped, a new set of footsteps boomed into the corridor. These were heavier and clumsier than the maleficar’s had been. From behind the stone wall to her right, Orso strode into view and stood an arm’s length away from the iron bars. Safir cut into him with her eyes and waited for him to act. Following a quick glance to either side, Orso met her gaze and smirked. He pulled the hilt of his sword a few inches out of its scabbard to reveal the glowing blue runes on its flat.

“As promised,” he said, “Starfang.”

“Took you long enough,” complained Safir, propping her injured finger up on display. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

“I’m sorry. Dovatocus’ mercs wouldn’t leave me be. Only managed to shake them off a few minutes ago.” Orso leaned closer and whispered. “Your weapons are in a chest down that way. I nicked the keys from a guard.”

“We’re near the sewer, right?”

“Yes,” answered Orso, fiddling with the lock of her cell. “But it’s in the opposite direction of your things. We’ll have to be quick.”

A moment later, the gate was open and Safir sprang out of it in an instant. “Give me the key,” she snapped, bouncing on her ankles. “Starfang, too.”

“What? Why would you—”

“Never mind why, just give me the damn sword.”

“You won’t find Dovatocus here, and drawing attention to yourself will only alert the guards.”

Safir weighed her options. “Are there guards in the sewers?”

“No, only on the prison side.” Orso searched her face urgently. “What are you planning?”

Blinking in thought, Safir wrapped her hand around Starfang’s hilt and jerked it out of the scabbard. “Go get the rest of my shit. I’ll meet you in the sewer.”

She left his side without giving him time to argue. Orso was already halfway to the entrance by the time she glanced back to make sure he’d followed orders. Starfang’s weight hung comfortably under her grip while she walked. Flipping the hilt in her hand so that the blade was pointing forward, she studied its runed flat for what felt like the first time. She dropped it gently into the loop in her belt and closed the rest of the distance to the sewer in a strut. A glint of silver caught her eye before she reached her destination. Hanging in an ornamented wood frame on a support column in between two cells was a weathered Grey Warden badge. She couldn’t tell its rank just by looking, but a Warden badge was no party favor; whoever’s it was would have had to earn it through bitter work. On any other day, she wouldn’t have thought twice about leaving the thing behind, but the stinging cut in her finger inspired a petty sort of indignity. She tore it out of its frame, stuffing it into a pocket and taking it with her to the sewer.

There, she waited with her fingers clasped over her nose for Orso to return with the rest of her gear. He lumbered quickly down the hall with two blades under his arm and her backpack slung around his shoulder. As he reached the sewerway he pointed with his chin to the left.

“Exit’s that way,” he panted. “Follow me.”

Their boots splashed loudly in the shallow water that lined the bottom of the circular tunnel. A few turns into a maze-like system of tunnels with differing levels of water and stench, Orso led her down one with moonlight glowing at its end. They approached an iron grate, the last obstacle standing in the way of their freedom.

“What now?” Safir cried. “Don’t tell me we’re stuck in here.”

“We’re not,” Orso said, muscling up to the grate and thrusting with his shoulder. “Just let me get… this… open!”

With a booming creak, the circle of iron gave way and swung open on a hinge. Orso led Safir outside and closed the grate behind them. 

“It’s just a short hop down to that hill,” he explained. “It’s rocky. We’ll have to climb down and make a run for it to the trees.”

Safir leaned over the sewer edge and peered into the murky darkness below. The climb down would take them across a hundred feet of elevation, but the sewer itself was only a few feet away from solid ground. Steadying herself on its sidewall, she leapt out and landed on braced legs. She eagerly filled her lungs with fresh air while she waited for Orso to land beside her with a thud.

“On we go, then,” he urged her. “Have you ever hiked up a hill?”

“Not exactly,” Safir answered, trying to forget the weeks she’d spent in the Big Empty Sand.

“More’s the pity. That would have been very helpful right now.”

“I haven’t hiked up a hill, but I’ve crossed the Hunterhorns on foot. Twice.”

“Oh, I see.” Orso seemed briefly beside himself but soon focused again on the task of descending from the compound. “Well, in that case, this should be easy for you. Let’s go, quickly. I think I heard someone entering the prison before I jumped out.”

Straining to find solid footholds on the rocky cliff, Safir hastily lowered herself from the sewer entrance and guided Orso down as best she could from just beneath him. Torchlight seemed to flicker far above, and Orso’s suspicions were confirmed when a compound guard stepped out of the sewer and peered into the night. Safir and Orso hugged the cliff wall and stood motionless until the guard gave up and retreated into the sewer once more.

Safir sighed in relief as she relaxed her body. “Thank the Maker your hair is so dark,” she gasped, her own silver ponytail billowing brightly in the moonlight. “Let’s hurry this up, shall we?”

Keeping pace remarkably well, Orso followed her down until they reached an open, dusty field with the lake only a few hundred yards away. They sprinted away from the compound until they reached it, both of them gasping for breath as they ran along its shore and breached the tree line on the far side. Finally in cover, they doubled over in their exhaustion and nervous laughter.

“We did it!” Orso cried, steadying himself against a gnarled oak. “We actually fucking did it. You fucking bastard, Dovatocus.”

Safir’s heavy breaths scrambled out in relief and excitement as she clasped Starfang’s hilt and shook it in its sheath. “And I have my fucking swords! Ha-ha!”

Safir and Orso turned to face one another, each basking in the other’s joy. 

“You were absolutely terrifying, by the way,” he spoke in shallow beats. “The way you screamed at me when I turned you in.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had to put on a show for my new friend,” she explained, proud of her performance. “Besides, I wanted to be sure you’d stick to your word, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it,” laughed Orso. “I actually sort of liked it.”

“And what about _you_!” she exclaimed, palming his shoulders. “I bet that asshole never suspected you were playing him! Serves him right.”

Safir smiled up at him, and Orso smiled down at her. Before either of them knew what was happening, he leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips that she returned without thinking. Then they parted and stood in wide-eyed silence, neither attempting to make eye contact.

“Did we just—”

“Yup,” Safir finished. “Let’s not—”

“No, of course.”

“That was just…”

“Right, I understand.”

“I don’t think we should—”

“Me neither,” Orso agreed, though perhaps a bit too quickly. “Should we just get moving?”

“Yeah. Let’s.”

“Right. Listen, I don’t—”

“It’s alright.”

“Right. Did you want to…”

“Nope.” Shaking her head to underscore the point, Safir shouldered her rucksack and beckoned him forward with an outstretched arm. “Lead the way.”

“Of course,” Orso said, stepping past her and winding his way around the trees. “That wasn’t… I mean, I don’t think that was…”

“Yeah, I didn’t either. Let’s just keep walking.” Safir kept pace behind Orso, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. “Unless you think—”

“No, no. That’s alright.”

“Right. Okay.”

Safir and Orso both gave up on making conversation as they made their way through the thick forest to its eastern edge. Hands in their pockets, they sped on in silent contemplation. Safir’s thoughts fell on Alistair, on what their first kiss had been like. She’d interrupted him mid-sentence after giving him his mother’s amulet. She thought of Nathaniel, who she’d also interrupted mid-sentence when he thought he was in trouble. This time, no one had been interrupted. Safir wondered whether that was a good or bad sign when Orso finally broke the silence between them.

“So, I know this probably isn’t the least awkward time to bring this up, but…” he hesitated. “Where exactly are you going next?”

Safir answered willingly, grateful for a reprieve from her own thoughts. “Ventus. I need to have a look around at the universities there.”

“Planning on expanding your horizons, are you?”

“Yeah, right. I’m not exactly the academic type. I just need a bit of help finding something.”

“Right, well. Listen.” Orso shuffled his feet through the dirt as he spoke. “Dovatocus is most assuredly furious that I’ve betrayed him. If I go back to Vyrantium, I’m as good as dead. I won’t last another week in that city.”

“That sounds rough.”

“So, I was hoping I might be able to join you on your mission… quest… thing. As I said, probably not the best time to ask.”

“My mission quest thing isn’t exactly a walk in the park, you know.” Safir’s attempt to caution Orso met with little reaction. “I’ve been through some serious shit because of this mission quest thing. I almost fell off of a bridge in a darkspawn ruin. I crossed the Hunterhorns and survived for a month in an arid desert. I fought ancient ghosts and almost drowned in a cave. None of this shit has been easy.”

“I didn’t ask for things to be easy, did I?” Orso said. “I just know that Vyrantium is a death sentence for me now, and you make for very interesting company. If you’ll have me along, I’d like to help you.”

“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Then tell me.”

“Maker,” Safir groaned, “I’m getting really tired of explaining that to people.”

Eyebrows raised, Orso stared at her while drumming his fingers on crossed arms.

“Fine,” she agreed, pacing back and forth in front of him. “So, it’s like this. To be a Warden, you have to drink darkspawn blood. As you can imagine, that fucks you up pretty bad. Not everyone lives. Even if you _do_ , you still have the Blight in you and it still kills you eventually.”

Orso nodded at her to continue. She had hoped, apparently in vain, that her goal would be obvious.

“I’m trying to not die horribly by getting rid of the taint in my blood.” Safir awaited Orso’s reaction but found that he simply shrugged. “In case it’s escaped your notice, that isn’t something most Wardens ever think about. It’s not even supposed to be possible.”

“Well then this quest of yours must be quite a waste of time, no?” he asked. He rested his hands on his hips and shrunk his eyes in thought. “Unless… you’ve already made progress on that front. You have, haven’t you?”

“I’m this close,” Safir explained, pinching the air with her thumb and forefinger. “All I need is a bit of special blood and someone to translate the formula.”

“So you’re going to Ventus to find a scholar?”

Safir nodded. “One who can tell me where to find more special blood. I had a vial of it ready, but it broke while I was in the desert.”

“What kind of blood are you talking about, here? More darkspawn? Wouldn’t that be easy enough to collect, even without a Blight on?”

“I’m not looking for darkspawn blood. It has to be… well, it has to be the blood of an Old God. Uncorrupted by the taint.”

Orso’s expression flattened. He blinked repeatedly at her exposition, perhaps reconsidering whether he would like to join her after all. Suddenly, he perked up and straightened his posture. “Fair enough. Off to Ventus we go, then.”

“You’re not going to tell me getting Old God blood is impossible?” Safir wondered. “That’s what I’d have done, if I were you.”

“In the short amount of time I’ve spent in your company, Safir, I’ve learned that nothing is too outlandish to be true. You’ve had enough crazy shit happen to you that getting a bit of ancient dragon’s blood hardly stands out.”

“Alright, well, while I admire your enthusiasm, that doesn’t mean this will be simple or straightforward. I doubt we’ll just be able to ask the first scholar we meet where to find Old God blood and then be on our way.”

“Who cares?” asked Orso. “The longer it takes, the less likely Dovatocus is to forcibly remove my liver. Let’s just get going.”

“If you insist, then.”

Gesturing to the forest, Safir bade Orso to press on lest they be caught by Dovatocus’ forces thanks to indecision and hesitation. She fell into step behind him as he carved a hasty path through the woods and finally came to a panting stop a handful of miles from where they’d started. Careful to loop around trees and cover their tracks in case Dovatocus had sicced any of his guards on them, they caught their breath under the sloping light of the sinking moon. They settled into a dark patch of dirt hidden from the moon by the thick tree trunks and dense canopy that surrounded it. Orso knelt down and fished a bedroll out of his rucksack.

“You sure you want to sleep here?” Safir asked him, her right hand at her waist. “Aren’t we still too close to the compound to risk it?”

“Dovatocus is a crime lord and a blood mage, Safir, not a fucking emperor. He’d have, at most, five men to spare to the cause of hunting us down.” Orso finished laying out his bedroll and beat his pack into roughly the shape of a pillow. “Besides, it’s nearly morning already. I’ll be on my hands and knees before long without some rest.”

Safir scoffed. “Sorry, I forgot Wardens are the only people in Thedas who aren’t pansy-asses.”

“Say what you want, but there are more of us than there are of you. That makes you the freak here.”

“Can’t say I disagree. Think I should at least keep watch?”

“Go crazy,” Orso said, already curling up in his bedroll. He shut his eyes and lay still. 

Left to her own devices, Safir dropped her pack to the ground and sat beside it at the base of an oak directly opposite Orso. She briefly considered keeping a studious vigil over the campsite, but was soon won over by his logic. Her eyes fell on him as she kept herself company. The last time she’d shared a camp with a human male was in the Crossroads with Finn, but he barely counted as a man, anyway. Prior to that, the most recent instance she could remember was in the Brecilian Forest, where she’d watched her hired carpenters sleep from the safety and discomfort of a mossy bough. Safe distance had been a guarantee in both cases, but tonight, Safir wondered to herself what on earth had possessed this man to kiss her. Still more perplexing than that was why she wasn’t revulsed by it. In her mind’s eye, the black of his hair became a dusty blonde and she became lost in the staring.

One of Orso’s eyes opened slightly as he shifted his weight, landing on Safir’s before being joined by its twin. Under furrowed brows, the eyes blinked repeatedly.

“Can I help you?” his voice croaked. “Is there any particular reason you’re staring at me like that?”

Safir snapped herself out of the trance. The jarring transition back to presence and lucidity delayed her answer. “Sorry. I was just a little stuck in my head about something, that’s all.”

“It wasn’t about my hair again, was it?”

“No,” Safir laughed.

“Then why were you staring at me?”

“Well, there isn’t anything else to look at, is there?”

Orso’s eyes shot up and into the depths of the woods in the direction they’d come from. “You said you would keep watch.”

“Technically, I asked you if you thought I should.” This answer failed to impress. “I was planning on it, but you were right. Big forest, not many people hypothetically after us. We should be fine, right?”

“Well, I should fucking hope so.” Orso rubbed a palm over his eyes and sighed after Safir shot him a worried glance. “If anyone does manage to find us, it’ll probably only be one of them. Not a problem for you, and therefore not a problem for me. Can I go to sleep now?”

“I was never stopping you,” Safir shrugged. “‘Sides, you started this conversation, not me.”

“From a certain point of view, it could be argued that, by staring at me while I was trying to sleep, _you_ began this exchange. Moreover, you could have easily wished me a good night just now, but you chose to crack wise and keep me up.”

“And you’ve chosen to act like a barrister instead of shutting us both up and closing your eyes,” countered Safir.

“You’re right. Together, I think we may have actually stumbled upon a shocking philosophical revelation.”

“Oh?”

Orso nodded. “Yes. It appears that a conversation between two people requires active participation from both parties.”

“Fuck yourself, Orso.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d much rather sleep.”

Safir cast her eyes back into the dark of the forest, where few spears of moonlight pierced the ground. Looking back at Orso, she finally waved him off. “Go crazy.”

The forest did not keep her entertained for long. Her eyes fell back onto Orso almost as soon as he’d shut his, and there they remained until she groggily followed suit.


	22. The Bronze Curtain

“How much further is it to Ventus?” Safir asked.

The wind that swept across the road brought cool air with it from over the Nocen sea and irritatingly fluttered a few stray locks of her silver hair before her eyes.

“At this pace, about a week, week and a half.”

“So that’s a week and a half of living off the land?”

Orso pocketed the sack of trail rations he’d just emptied and patted his hollow stomach. “Looks that way.”

“What kind of game lives around here?” she wondered.

“Very small game.”

“Nugs, then. Or rabbits.”

“Smaller.”

“Smaller than rabbits?”

“Sadly,” said Orso. “Unless you can shoot an eagle out of the sky, the most you’re likely to find in these woods is a ferret. Go nearer the coast, and you might get a turtle if you’re lucky. Don’t much like turtle, though.”

Safir’s stomach growled as she walked beside Orso. Looking east, she peered into the forest and begged it for providence. 

Fate, however, would see them walking north for a few miles more. They waited for the sun’s light to start dimming before heading into the trees to set camp and find food. Foraging for berries could only entertain them for so long, and when night fell at last the forest had only given them a brace of squirrels with which to last it. Safir settled onto a fallen log with her weapons and armor by her side, having set up the tents while Orso struggled to build a fire with damp wood. After much effort, the kindling was finally lit, spurring the fire into life where it crackled and filled the silence between them.

“Hey Orso?” Safir then asked. She watched him through the flames as he sat up straighter on his log.

“Yes?”

“Who were those two elves? The ones standing behind Dovatocus when he caught me.”

His head bowed low, Orso stared at the gravel under the fire. “Twins. Filas and Dhenan are their names. They were born Dalish in Antiva, the way I heard it, but they’ve been slaves most of their lives. Dovatocus only got his hands on them a few years ago. It’s a pity we couldn’t help them.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Safir sighed in mourning of ancient tragedies, thoughts lingering on Vaughan and Loghain and every other pig of a human who’d inflicted himself upon the alienage over the years. “I’m so fucking tired of them abusing us.”

Orso raised a puzzled eyebrow and stuttered into a question. “The Dalish?”

“No. Humans, you idiot. It’s always the same damn story with humans and elves. I’m sick of it.”

“Oh. Of course that’s what you meant,” Orso scolded himself. “Have you seen anything like what Dovatocus did before?”

“No. No, that piece of garbage showed me a new low. But elves struggling to breathe under human boots is nothing new at all.” Safir tossed spare kindling onto the fire before shaking anger off into general malcontent. “I grew up in an alienage, not with the Dalish. The humans treated us like chattel. Raped my cousin. Killed my mother.”

“I’m sorry, Safir.”

“You should be. All humans should be. I was just a girl when they took my mother from me. Come to think of it, that’s probably why I’m so ladylike.” Feeling a twinge of pride, Safir pulled Fang out of its sheath and thumbed its edges. “This is her dagger. My pa gave it to me… after I rescued him from slavers. Human slavers. From Tevinter.”

Safir leaned away from him as she spoke the words. Orso seemed to stir for a spell while trying to think of something to say.

“Your father,” he said at last. “He sounds like a decent man.”

“He is,” nodded Safir. “I don’t know where I would be without him.”

“That must be nice,” Orso said, rubbing tense hands together.

Safir wondered at the source of his sudden trepidation. She waited for elaboration that would not come before finally asking, “What must?”

“Having a decent father.” Bitter knuckles cracked in the wake of the response. “Being able to accredit him with the way you turned out. Not having to decide between wishing he was dead and refusing to waste your imagination on him.”

“I take it you didn’t have the best home life.”

Orso scoffed, eyebrows bent in amusement. “I think you’ll find that’s a common thread among mercenaries.”

“Well, what’s the story?”

He bit his cheek as he struggled to put together his thoughts, direct though they were. “The Tevinter Imperium is a Maker-forsaken pit of filth that stains Thedas’ map. I hate it just as much as you do.”

“So why do you stay?” asked Safir, quietly mulling over his surprising answer.

“Because there’s work here. And because I’ve never been anywhere else. And because if I leave… I don’t know, it’s too much like admitting defeat. And then he wins.”

“Your father?”

Orso nodded. “He never really forgave me for not being born a mage.”

“Did he die?”

“I don’t know,” he said, surprising her again. “I haven’t been in touch with my family in years. Used to write to my sister, but now even she feels like a distant relation. I never gave my father that kindness. The miserable bastard is probably still pinching every last bit of coin he can from his Laetan and Altus customers.”

Safir knit her brows at Orso, asking after his father’s profession with a glance.

“He’s a craftsman,” Orso clarified, “and a good one. Makes fancy furniture for the noble classes. Of course, since he’s Soporati, no one ever pays him a fair price, which is why he wanted a mage so badly. And when I came out not one, there we were still living in the dirt, and he supposed that was my fault. The son of a bitch beat me, berated me, and threatened to throw me out of the house at the slightest provocation. It took me until I was seventeen to give up on showing him that I was more than he thought I was.”

“Is that when you left home?”

Orso answered the question with small but confident nods. “And I never looked back. I felt sorry for my mother and sister having to live with him, but he only ever had a problem with good old Perennali the Disappointment. So I fucked off, which is probably the only thing I ever did that he actually approved of.

“A resentful son living on his own at that age will tend to be quite angry. He’ll pick enough fights for other people to offer to pay him for it. And when that first offer reaches him, he’ll have no choice but to smile and say, ‘yes’. I’ve been getting paid to hit people pretty much my entire adult life.”

Safir pondered her recruitment into the Wardens and reflected on Orso’s tale. Hers was arguably the more noble dedication to violence, but its consequences unquestionably the more severe.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t even get paid when _I_ hit people.”

“Yes,” he grinned, sounding unimpressed, “but when I hit people, some rich bastard gets a little bit richer. When you do it, you save the world.”

“Technically, that was the other Warden,” Safir corrected him. “But point taken. I definitely am much more important than you.”

“I agree. Speaking of which, I can’t help but ask where you’d gone off to.”

Safir fought against a chill in her spine to remain composed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said you’re the Hero of Ferelden. I’m no historian, but I’ve got a mostly functioning memory. I got to thinking about what I could actually remember about you. I heard that you’d suddenly vanished a few years back. Clearly, I missed the news that you’d returned. So, where were you?”

“Right,” Safir whispered. She stumbled into her nervous response. “‘ _Where_ am _I?_ ’ would be a more accurate question.”

“Wait, you’re not… You’re still gone?” Orso asked, blinking frantically.

“Still gone.”

“You never went back?”

“Never.”

“I see. How surprising would it be for people to hear that you’re alive?”

“Depends where you are, but not very. I’m not exactly hiding, but I couldn’t be further from active duty.”

“Well, I assume that if you mean to kill me for having learned this, I won’t be able to stop you. I suppose I could indulge in a little curiosity, don’t you agree?”

Safir squinted and guessed helplessly at his meaning. “What?”

“Where were you?” Orso asked again. “I still want to know.”

“Oh. Of course you do.” Safir pursed her lips in frustration. “It’s long and it’s ugly, Orso. You don’t want to hear it.

“Try me.”

Safir’s brows jumped at his eagerness. “Alright, it’s like this. The Blight was a real son of a bitch to me, you know? And after dealing with some more darkspawn shit in Amaranthine, I went looking for an old friend, but I didn’t really find her. Then I spent some time alone. A lot of time alone, and then Denerim for a little over a year, and then the ridiculous series of events that brought me here. That’s as much detail as you’ll ever need to know.”

“What was all that time alone for?”

“What did I _just_ say?”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Orso said, playing innocent. “But no one isolates themselves from society just to have a bit of a think. You must have had a good reason.”

“I’d rather not get into it.” Safir scowled as she looked away from him, her shoulder an icy wall.

“Fair enough. Still, I think it’s more or less safe to assume that _something_ inspired you to be alone for a long while. How long was it?”

“What are you doing?” Safir snapped.

Orso met her glare with a few blinks of surprise and set down the twig with which he’d been poking at the fire. “Just making conversation.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re getting familiar. Cut it out.”

Orso straightened up and planted his palms on his knees. “Sorry, I’m not quite sure I understand you,” he said, raising his voice. “Asking someone with your status and celebrity to shed some light on a mystery that’s puzzled hundreds if not thousands of people the world over, not including the Wardens themselves, is getting familiar? I suppose if I asked the Magisters Sidereal how many troughs’ worth of blood it took them to punch a hole in the veil, you’d think I was getting a bit too chummy with the enemy!”

“Orso, shut up.”

“No, I want you to tell me that you being gone for some significant amount of time isn’t a perfectly natural thing to be curious about! Honestly, it’s a wonder I didn’t ask earlier.”

“You shouldn’t have asked at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s personal shit,” Safir spat. “And if I don’t want to tell you about it, you should have the decency to fuck off and stop asking.”

“You know,” started Orso, crossing his arms. “You’re not being very fair.”

“Get used to it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he insisted. “I opened up to you.”

“Yeah, and you’ll notice I didn’t ask you to whine at me about how daddy didn’t love you.”

Angry eyes pierced the flames to find hers, fixed in motionless contempt.

“I’m a friendly enough bloke, Safir, but don’t forget why I’m here. I can go anywhere in the world besides Vyrantium. If you don’t want me along, I don’t have to go to Ventus.”

“Orso,” said Safir, failing to win his attention with an apologetic sigh.

“I offered that information about myself willingly, and I’m not under the pretense that you owe me anything in return for it.”

“Orso,” she repeated.

“But be that as it may, it isn’t fair of you to turn mean and spiteful just because I asked you a simple little question.”

“But it’s not just a simple—”

“I mean, honestly, if I freaked out every time someone asked me an innocent question about my beard or whether I enjoy mercenary work, I’d be intolerable. Can you imagine what it would be like if people weren’t allowed to make little pointless inquiries every now and then? It’d be a nightmare! Orlais would fall apart without small talk! All because no one can get to know each other because questions aren’t allowed for some—”

“Orso!” she shouted, finally earning a silence in which to speak her peace. 

Settling down with a sigh and a brush of his hand through messy hair, he at last gave her his full attention.

“I am _fucked up_ , okay? I’m not a misunderstood outsider. I’m not a bitch with a heart of gold. I’m just really fucked up.” Safir paused. Every ounce of the weight behind her words hung in the air. “You don’t have to be my friend. You’re not coming along so you can braid my hair and tell me secrets while we name stars after each other. I need something, and you’re helping me get it. That’s as far is this is going to go.”

Silence lay between them like a fog, stretching one moment into many.

Shrugging, Orso rose from the log and stooped to pick up the pair of squirrels that would have to pass for the night’s dinner. He then fished a small knife out of his pocket and set about skinning them. Safir watched him work, his foot tapping impatiently and his lips pursing every now and then.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me,” she told him at length.

“How do you figure that?”

“You can still talk. We just don’t have to get to know each other.”

“Frankly, I don't see the difference. All a conversation is is a series of questions and answers. Every time two people talk, they get to know each other just a little bit more.” Orso, having skinned and gutted one of the squirrels already, skewered it and held it over the fire. “If you don’t want me to ask questions, I don’t know what else I can say.”

“You keep doing that,” Safir said, rolling her eyes.

Furrowed brows asked for elaboration.

“Having a brain. It’d be so much easier to ignore you if you were the thick-headed idiot I expected you to be.”

“Er… thanks. I think.”

Safir sighed.

“You can talk to me, Orso. We can be friends, or something. Whatever. But that stuff you asked about? That’s _my_ stuff. It stinks and it takes up too much space and I wish it wasn’t mine but it is. Ask me about anything else and I’ll write you a book, but I can’t get into that.”

“Sore subject, I take it?” he said.

“To put it mildly,” she nodded. “Sorry I was a bitch.”

Orso chuckled and shook his head at the fire. “Safir, you’ve been a bitch for as long as I’ve known you. If I didn’t like that about you, what makes you think I’d be here?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Sometimes it amazes me that I have any friends at all.”

“Well, that’s an easy one,” he said, focused on the roasting squirrel. “It’s because you’re funny. Hard to be offended if you’re laughing, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Safir mused, a hand on her chin. “Though, most of the time I’m not trying to be. I’m just being a bitch.”

“If you say so. Anyway, here you are. Your pathetic dinner is served.”

Standing and leaning over the fire, he handed her the skewer and immediately started roasting the second squirrel. Watching as the flames licked it, she noticed that she held the fatter of the two in her hands, Orso having saved the skinny one for himself. A squirrel is a squirrel, she supposed, but his certainly looked a fair bit smaller than the one he’d given her. Had he done that on purpose? He couldn’t have known about her appetite unless Wardens in Tevinter were famous for how much food they could put away. Safir wondered at this a while longer before finally tucking in to her meager dinner and disappearing into her thoughts, where past and present fought for control of the future.

Her wandering eyes flit in between the trees that surrounded their campsite and surveyed the darkness that lay at the edge of the firelight. At the very limit of her sight, just dim enough so that she couldn’t be certain she’d seen anything at all, a dark shape seemed to slip behind one of the trunks. She squinted after it, hoping to catch it a second time.

“You said the only game here is small, right?” she asked Orso, who had just taken his first few bites of squirrel.

“Just tiny rodents like the ones we’re eating now.”

“So a wolf would be completely out of the question?”

“Definitely.”

Safir sighed. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just thought I saw something,” she said.


	23. In the Office of Venitius Vero Viridas of Ventus

Ventus seemed a fine city.

Upon entering it, Safir and Orso immediately found themselves swimming through a sea of clamoring citizens navigating the labyrinthine bazaar that hugged the inside of the city’s massive white walls. Winding their way through the crowd exposed them to an astonishing variety of sights and smells, the most intriguing of which was a strange sort of hard candy that Safir had never heard of and which Orso knew only by name.

“Would you like one?” he asked, pointing to the stall with his thumb and shouting just to be heard. “They’re supposed to be amazing. Ventus is famous for them.”

“I’m game,” answered Safir. She wandered the dense market with curious eyes while waiting for Orso to return with the candy. “What the fuck is it?” she asked when he handed the thing to her. Served on a stout stick, the treat took the form of a long cone of semi-transparent candy with multicolored layers concentrically surrounding its core. 

“Hardened sugar, mostly. I don’t know how they flavor it,” Orso admitted. 

Safir eyed the thing suspiciously, turning the stick over in her fingers to study it.

“You’re supposed to lick it,” said Orso.

“I’ve heard that before…” 

Orso’s olive cheeks flushed red as he palmed his forehead in suppressed laughter. “Come on, let’s get out of the market and go some place we can hear ourselves think.”

Lapping at the candy as she walked, Safir followed Orso through the bustling maze of perfumers and carpet sellers and their overeager ilk. The sugar cone was a pleasant surprise, with a sweet and citrusy flavor that coated her tongue deliciously. So focused on enjoying it was she that she nearly failed to notice that Orso hadn’t bought one for himself.

“Why didn’t you get two?” she asked, squinting into the sunlight as she exited the market behind him.

“Why didn’t I get two? Didn’t know if it was any good, honestly,” he shrugged. “Besides, we can just share this one, can’t we? I mean, Maker, I’m not made of money.”

“Dovatocus gave you an entire sack of coins for turning me in.”

“And it won’t last long if I go wasting it all on sweets, will it?”

Safir raised an accusing eyebrow. “I thought you said someone would always be willing to pay you to beat someone else up.”

“Oh, just shut up and give it here,” Orso sighed, frustratedly clasping at the air in front of it.

Safir handed it over with just a smidge of reluctance but found herself unable to care for very long. Her eyes widened when they fell on the enormous domed basilica looming in the distance just over his shoulder.

“Whoa…” 

Stepping past him, Safir brought the entire facade into view and marveled. White walls and gold plated roofing stood opposite her on the far side of a sprawling square dotted with the tall and slender palms she’d only ever seen illustrations of. Elaborate stained glass windows lined the bottom of the central dome, which was flanked by towering exedrae and decorated with a sharp, golden spire. Behind it were the black cliffs that rose far above the city, their outermost shoulder jutting out just beyond the center of the dome. Orso drew up to her side a moment later.

“That’s the city’s chantry,” he explained in between licks of the candy. “Another of Ventus’ claims to fame. D’you like it?”

“It’s… well, it’s really fucking big. Bigger than anything in Denerim, that’s for sure.”

“Really? Isn’t the tower thing supposed to be impressive?”

“Fort Drakon?” Safir asked. “Yeah, it’s pretty huge, but at the end of the day it’s just a big stick at the top of which an archdemon died. This thing outclasses it by far.”

“Well, lucky you, then. That’s where we’re going.”

Safir’s ears perked up at that, and she was mildly amused that Ventus’ sizeable chantry seemed to have awoken a long dormant enthusiasm for architecture within her.

“Don’t get too excited,” Orso cautioned. “We’re not going in. The university is in that general direction, though. We’ll be able to get close.”

Spurred forward by an unexpected but welcome eagerness, Safir strode side by side with Orso across the square, all the while listening to the stiff rustling of palm fronds and passing the candy cone back and forth between them. She craned her neck up to study the chantry once they reached it, wishing she had a roll of parchment large enough to do it justice.

“Trying to commit the structure to memory?” Orso asked, chuckling.

“Shit, maybe I should…” muttered Safir. “That would make it easier.”

“Right. Don’t know what you’re on about, but feel free to stare at it to your heart’s content. I need to ask for directions.”

Safir snapped out of her art appreciation and regarded Orso with sharp eyes and hands on her hips. “I thought you knew where you were going!”

“I’ve never been to Ventus before!” he defended himself.

“You certainly know enough about its landmarks.”

“Well, I’m from Tevinter, aren’t I? Of course I know things about Ventus. It’s in my cesspool of a home country.”

“Okay, fair point. Go on, then.”

Orso returned a short while later armed with directions and a confident spring in his step. Leading the way forward, he guided her through Ventus’ dense academic district. They carved a path through wide cobbled streets and looked up at the whitewashed facades that lined them, stone domes topping most of the otherwise flat roofs. By late afternoon, they reached another example of Tevinter’s architectural grandeur, this time an elaborate building with an immense, mosaiced archway serving as the entrance at its center. Surrounding it was an outer mezzanine of stone pillars and archways with decorative tiling and vaulted ceilings in between them. This imposing complex was the heart of the University of Ventus.

“What now?” Safir asked.

“I’m not sure. I suppose we just walk in and ask to speak with a historian?”

“Would that work?”

“Who knows?” Orso said, and without another word he started off toward the entrance. 

Safir followed him inside and stared up at the ornamented ceiling while Orso wandered in search of a member of faculty that could point them towards the right person to talk to. Still looking up, she heard him stop a scholar in her tracks and ask for assistance.

“I need to speak to a historian,” he said. “Preferably someone who studies religious history.”

“What is your business here?” the woman asked. Her snooty voice sounded thoroughly unimpressed by his appeal.

“My friend and I have made a rather thrilling discovery about the Old Gods, actually. Forgive me, but it’s quite urgent that I keep this information under wraps for now. Do you know someone who might be able to help us?"

Safir imagined an annoyed roll of the eyes in place of the woman’s silent hesitation.

“Speak with Professor Viridas,” she finally said. “His office is just down the hall. Third on the right.”

Even the scholar’s footsteps sounded obnoxious when she parted company with Orso and resumed her own business. Safir was busy studying an unsettling religious fresco when she heard Orso approach and felt his hand on her arm. She met his eyes with a quick grin.

“Interesting artwork here,” she shrugged. “I’m particularly fond of that painting of Andraste fucking a tiger.”

“What?” Confused, Orso furrowed his brows and scanned the ceiling for the piece. “Oh, she’s not fucking it, she’s riding it into battle. Look, you can tell by the sword at her belt.”

“That’s not a sword.”

“What do you mean, of course it’s… it’s…” Orso squinted and cocked his head to one side. “Fuck me, I think you’re right. Maker only knows what canticle _that_ scene comes from. Anyway, our man’s office is just this way. Follow me.”

Only a short trip down the hall, Safir and Orso found a wooden door, slightly ajar, with a crooked nameplate on it that simply read, _Viridas_. Orso nudged it open wide enough for Safir to enter. Inside, she found a tiny office so cluttered she could scarcely move around. Against every available wall was a bookcase haphazardly filled to the brim with hefty tomes and assorted knick knacks. At the center of the room, with barely a foot of space between it and the walls around it, was a stout wooden desk topped with stacks upon stacks of papers and books and other such miscellany. A small square window was set into the wall at the back of the office with a tiny potted plant wilting on its sill. The room was dead silent.

“Well, it looks like no one’s home,” Orso said.

“Who’s not home?” asked a gravelly but high pitched voice from somewhere in the room. Safir and Orso shared a puzzled look, unsure of its source. They heard the scraping of wood on stone as a chair skidded away from the desk and out popped a man they could only presume was the good professor. Wiry gray hair sprouted from the sides of his head, fraying at the edges. A pair of thick spectacles sat on his hooked nose and doubled the size of his friendly blue irises. He shot them a smile and rounded the corner of his desk. “Venitius Vero Viridas of Ventus, at your service,” he proclaimed with a deep bow. “Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Er… My name is Orso, and this is my friend, Safir. We were wondering if we could pick your brain a little.”

“Ahh, I see,” said the professor, stroking his stubbled chin. “What about, I wonder?”

“Old Gods,” Safir replied. “If you haven’t got the time, we can be on our way.”

“Don’t be silly, any seeker of knowledge is a friend of mine! Now, what mysteries shall we unravel together?”

Casting an unsure glance at Orso, Safir decided a direct approach was best. “The short of it is, I’m curious about where it might be possible to find uncorrupted samples of their blood.”

“Uncorrupted blood of an Old God?” Viridas muttered. “My, that is a strange inquiry, indeed. Why do you ask?”

“Would you believe it if I said my interest was purely academic?”

“Not in the slightest! But frankly, it’s not as though such a sample would be of much use to anyone except… Well, anyway, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“I don’t understand,” Orso said, stepping forward. “I was told you were a religious historian.”

“And I am! One of the best!” he declared. “But uncorrupted Old God blood is no trifling matter. I have all manner of rarities here in my office, but they are as commonplace as the hairs in my nose compared to what you’re after.”

“So, there’s none of it left in the world?” Safir asked. Viridas shook his head no, prompting her to bow hers solemnly. Orso placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, but she simply stared at her feet. Had this all been for nothing?

“I’m sorry, Safir,” whispered Orso. Clearing his throat, he made to thank the professor for his time. “We appreciate your assistance, Viridas. We’ll let you get back to your work.”

“Hang on just a second,” Viridas said. “According to common knowledge, it should be impossible to find untainted Old God blood. But now that you’ve asked, I’m not so certain that’s the case. In my youth, I remember studying an ancient cult that… that… Yes! That’s it! Be glad, my friends!”

“What is it?” asked Safir, staring at him intensely.

“Oh, this is ancient, truly ancient history. This comes from before the Old Gods were imprisoned beneath the ground.” Pushing the spectacles up his nose, Viridas scuttled around them and ran his fingers across the books on the shelves behind them. At length, he pulled one out and flipped through its weathered pages. “Look, here,” he began. “There was a cult thousands of years ago, before the Imperium had reached the height of its power, that worshiped the Old Gods like, well, gods. 

“But these were a curious folk. Rather than fear the Old Gods, they seemed to have befriended them! Their leader sought the power hidden within their blood, and ordered her followers to extract samples from each of the seven dragons. This sort of thing doesn’t normally go over well with the masses, however. The cult was swiftly exterminated, and most records expunged them from history. Most, yes, but not all. It took years of bitter work and hard study, but I managed to learn almost everything there is to learn about them! And here’s the best bit: they left behind a temple in the south, and guess what was stored there!”

“The blood,” Safir breathed, breaking into an excited smile. “Where is it?”

“Just outside of Tantervale, atop the hill on the south side of the river.”

“This is great news,” Orso said, once again clapping Safir on the shoulder, but this time in celebration.

“Indeed it is!” shouted Viridas. “Another mystery solved!”

The professor smiled as he shut the book and alternated between staring at Safir and staring at Orso.

“Er… is there nothing else?” asked Orso.

“You tell me! I’m not the one asking the questions here.”

Safir stepped forward before Orso could respond, rifling through her rucksack to retrieve a rolled up sheet of parchment covered in the broad strokes of a charcoal drawing stick. 

“There’s one more thing, actually. I’m assuming you can read old Tevene,” she said, unfurling the rubbing and handing it to Professor Viridas. “Could you translate that for me?”

“My, my, where did you come across this?” he asked. He ran his widening eyes across the text and gasped in realization upon finishing. “By Darinius’ toenail clippings, this is astonishing! I’ll have this translated for you in just a second!”

Viridas rounded the desk and fished out a spare sheet of parchment on which to transcribe the details of the cure. He wrote feverishly and tirelessly, finishing before long and blowing on the ink to dry it. 

“There you are,” he said as he handed the translation over. Safir held it in tense fingers and read through it at once. The complete formula, finally in her possession. “Pardon me,” Viridas started, “but you wouldn’t mind if I kept the rubbing, would you? You know, just in case someone other than the Hero of Ferelden comes knocking in search of that cure.”

Safir’s eyebrows sprang up in surprise. “You know who I am?”

“Oh, please, I recognized you the moment you arrived!”

“Really?”

“Well, no,” he admitted, dodging her scrutinous gaze. “But how impressive would if be if I had? I put two and two together when you handed me that rubbing. Speaking of which...”

“You can have it, but I need you to do me a favor in return. If word gets out that I’m here, and that I’m looking for a cure to the taint… Well, suffice it to say that bad things will happen.” Safir pleaded with her eyes at the excitable professor. “Can I count on you to keep this quiet?” 

“But of course! I wish you the absolute best of luck, Warden.”

Viridas bowed as Safir and Orso parted company with him and made for the building’s exit. Standing shoulder to shoulder in the sunlight with renewed confidence, they paused and let the excitement of their discoveries sink in. A few silent moments later, Orso looked down at her with a question on his face.

“You hungry?”

“I could eat. We’ve still got those rations we picked up outside the city.”

“I’m tired of trail rations,” Orso complained in a grimace. “Can’t we go to an actual restaurant? I’d give my left arm for a fish fry.”

“What happened to saving money?” Safir asked, an eyebrow raised.

“If you’d tasted fried snapper before, you wouldn’t be saying that. Come on, we can’t be too far from a fryer.” 

A quick trip to the city’s coastal edge brought Safir and Orso to an impressively pungent eatery that seemed to specialize in deep frying all sorts of aquatic creatures. Much to Orso’s delight, snapper was on the menu. Sat across from each other on a small wooden table overlooking the sea with two plates of fried fish between them, they basked in the warm tropical breeze and, to a slightly lesser extent, each other’s company.

Safir poked at her snapper suspiciously, using her fork to investigate it. She was no stranger to fish, of course, but she’d never seen one so crunchy and brown. She scraped lightly over the still intact eyeball that stared up at her while she curled her lip at it in caution.

“No, don’t!” Orso shouted once he looked up from his half eaten snapper and noticed what she was doing. “You’ll spoil it! The eyes are the best part!”

“Excuse me? This disgusting blob of goo is the best part?”

“Mhmm!” he nodded, his mouth already full. Thankfully, he swallowed before speaking again. “It pops deliciously in your mouth. I’ll have it if you don’t want it.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll take you up on that,” she answered. Under his supervision, she finally took her first curious bites of the snapper’s flesh. “Holy Maker, this is good!”

“What did I say?” Orso asked, arms raised. “Are you sure you don’t want the eye?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Suit yourself, then.”

Focusing on his own plate, Orso stripped his snapper down to the bone. When only the head remained untouched, he gripped it firmly and twisted it against the fish’s spine to snap it off. “Hehe. Snapped snapper,” he joked just before he brought eager teeth to bear on its forehead and rolled his eyes up in pleasure. “It’s divine, Safir. Honestly.”

With eyes wide and mouth agape, she simply stared in horror while Orso inhaled the rest of his snapper. He sighed contentedly upon finishing and leaned back patting his stomach.

“Are you going to finish yours?”

“Not after watching that,” Safir answered, sliding her plate across the table. He leaned forward at once and wiggled his fingers over the few bits of flesh she’d left behind. 

“Your loss,” he said, digging in. 

Soon enough, the meal was over and their visit to the restaurant followed it. With nothing else to do but begin the digestion process, they walked along the outermost road laughing and joking with each other while enjoying the salty sea air. They tired of this exercise just after sunset at one of Ventus’ many harbors and decided at last to exchange the creaking of docks and rigging for that of floorboards and unoiled doors.

They paid for a night at a nearby inn, where Safir somewhat reluctantly shared the single mattress that came with their room. On her orders, Orso slept with his head at the foot of the bed. She soon learned he was not one to keep still during the night. While thinking of home and waiting for sleep to take her, she felt him shift his weight and stop the moment his hand landed on hers. The sudden contact gave her a start, but when she looked down and saw that he was still fast asleep, she couldn’t help but smile to herself and close her eyes again. She drifted away while idly feeling the calluses on his palm.

# ***

Morning brought with it eagerness and tireless energy in equal measure. When Safir first rose into a sitting position she found the other side of the mattress empty. Rubbing her eyes, she stood from the bed and found a small leaf of parchment on the nightstand at her side. A single word was written on it in sloppy lettering: _Breakfast_.

Satisfied with that explanation, Safir crossed over to the dresser that stood against the wall to the right of the bed’s foot and donned her gear in the hope of getting an early start on the hike once Orso returned. That task done, she fished out the translation Viridas had given her, reading it over and over until she’d committed the entire thing to memory. She was still facing the dresser when the door creaked open and Orso’s heavy steps landed behind her.

“Morning,” she called over her shoulder. Orso responded in kind. “What’d you eat?”

“Nug meat and half a loaf. It wasn’t very filling, but I brought you some,” he said. She heard him setting a plate down on the nightstand, but was still too focused on the formula to look away from it.

“Thanks.”

Orso’s steps fell closer and closer behind her until his arms closed around her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder. Safir did her best to hide the smirk that his hug inspired.

“Studying for an exam, are you?”

“Memorizing the cure,” she explained, taking one hand off the parchment to give one of his a light squeeze. “Just in case, you know.”

Orso tightened the hug, warming her both literally and metaphorically with his unexpected display of affection. But warmth turned to chill just as suddenly when memories of the Blight flooded her mind in brief and painful flashes.

“Get off me,” she ordered. Pulling herself free of his arms she twisted to face him and drove him off with a stiff, one-armed shove “Back off.”

Orso stared across the room at her like a kicked puppy. She set the formula down and crossed her arms, hoping to push him away with indifference.

“What was that for?”

“It’s nothing. Just keep your distance, alright?” 

“What’s the matter, Safir?” he asked, stepping a little closer and training his dark eyes on hers. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of stranger to you.”

“You _are_ a stranger to me,” she fought back, blunting her voice in an attempt to sound assertive.

“A stranger you’ve kissed.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Neither is pretending that there’s nothing here.”

“There _isn’t_ anything here,” Safir argued. She struggled to remain composed as he took yet another step forward. “Viridas told us the temple’s south of Tantervale.”

“Oh, please.” He moved closer still. Safir sidled away from him until her back was pressed up against the dresser. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, then,” she dodged, not realizing she’d given him an open invitation to keep trying. “Or, better yet, don’t!”

Instead of following her to the dresser like she’d expected, Orso stood in precisely the same spot she’d left him at. He folded his arms and regarded her with a knowing grin that chilled her heart with an anxious sting.

“What the fuck are you just standing there for?” she demanded, leaving the safety of the dresser to accuse him. 

“You asked me not to be specific, darling,” he teased. “I’m just following orders.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Stop following orders?” he asked. He closed the distance between them in a single stride and let his hands hover just over her elbows, sending her heart into a rush with mere proximity. 

“No,” Safir snapped out of it, pushing him away from her before he could take it any further. “Stop… just stop being here.”

Orso smiled at her again as if he intimately understood every ill-advised thought racing through her mind that begged her to let him stay. “Are you quite sure that’s what you want?”

Safir raised her arms to maintain the distance between them, but Orso simply drew up so that her hands pressed into his chest. “Look, man, this just isn’t a good idea, alright?”

“And why not?”

“Because!”

“Because what?”

“Andraste’s ass, you—” Safir cut herself off and lowered her head with a sigh. “Okay. Did we kiss? Yeah. Totally happened. Did I like it? Sure. But can we do anything about it, or take this any further? No. Absolutely not.”

Orso took an exaggeratedly deep breath, increasing the pressure her hands exerted on his chest and letting her feel the warmth of his running blood. “Why are you so hesitant, Safir?”

“Because I’m the Hero of Ferelden. I stopped a Blight in a year. And you’re just some guy from Tevinter. And you seem like you’ve really got a thing for me, which is terrifying.” It took everything Safir had to restrain herself and fight the urge to yank him in by his shirt. Her will had no such luck in keeping her eyes from flitting down to his lips.

“How so?” he asked her softly, draping his hands over hers.

“Feelings… feelings make people stupid,” she tried. By now she was beyond all hope of masking just how flustered she really felt. “You’ll do something stupid, and I just… _Please_ don’t do something stupid.”

“Something stupid?” he repeated, dragging her hands up and over his shoulders as he took one more step closer. “Like what?”

Safir found herself staring at his lips only inches away, his hot breath falling on her face. “Something… like…”

With clawed hands, Safir clung to the back of Orso’s neck and crossed those last few inches herself. He walked her back into the dresser with his hands at her waist while they kissed, forcing her into it with such enthusiasm that it loudly knocked against the wall behind it. Lowering himself, he picked her up by the thighs and set her down on top of it as she dug her fingers into his messy hair and made it look even worse. Taking advantage of the opportunity to kick off her boots, Safir bent awkwardly to remove them while their lips were still locked. Orso soon took the hint and pulled them off himself, pausing afterwards to throw off his own shirt and reveal a muscular chest littered with scars. Pressing his forehead into hers as they both caught their breath, his frantic hands busied themselves with the belts keeping her gambeson vest firmly in place.

“Maker damn whoever invented these things,” he complained in a shuddering breath while Safir nibbled at his ear.

“Yeah,” she agreed, putting her own trembling fingers to work on the top belt as he worked his way up, “they’re a pain in the ass.”

“But the anticipation…” he added, not bothering to finish the thought when the last of the buckles had been undone and Safir ripped the vest off of herself and pulled her lips into his. A moment later he lifted her again and tossed her playfully onto the bed. 

Safir bounced across the mattress and backed into the flimsy headboard behind her, biting her lip as she removed her trousers and waited for Orso to join her. He clambered onto the bed and approached her on his knees, exciting her more each time the pressure of his weight drew that much nearer until he was finally within reach. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she invited him forward and pressed herself into him tightly. His kisses moved from her lips to her neck as his hand wandered underneath the linen shirt separating her skin from his. He leaned closely over her when she slid her fingers behind his waistband and began to pull down. Flushing nervously under his attentive gaze, she surrendered herself to a thrill she'd forgotten it was possible to feel.

# ***

Exhausted, sweaty, and more relaxed than she’d felt in years, Safir rested with her head on Orso’s shoulder and her arm draped over his chest. Her idle fingers lapped at the hair behind his ear while his palm ran up and down the small of her back.

“Maker’s breath, Safir, you’ve got almost as many scars as I do,” Orso joked while tracing over an ancient gash on her upper arm. “How’d you get this one?”

“An ogre gave that to me at Vigil’s Keep,” she sighed, inching closer to him as his gentle fingers walked up from her arm to just behind her right shoulder.

“What about this?”

“A gift from Cauthrien, during the Blight,” she answered. “She was Loghain’s right hand. The cut would’ve been a lot deeper if she’d had orders to kill me.”

“But she didn’t?” he wondered.

“Nope. Just took me to a disgusting prison.”

“What happened then?”

“I thanked her for it by shoving a sword in her gut before a landsmeet.” Safir noticed his fingers tense up in response to her bluntness and directed the shame inward. “You must think I’m a terrible person.”

“Did I say that?” Orso asked her, brushing hair out of her face to better look into her eyes.

“No,” she admitted after a reluctant pause.

“Then how could you possibly know if that’s what I think of you?”

Safir understood his intention—appreciated it, even—but pushed herself off of him anyway and sat with her back turned to him on the edge of the bed. “Because I probably am.”

“No, I doubt that very much. I think maybe you should tell me a little more, so I can be sure.” Orso followed her to the edge, coming to a stop just behind her and tapping his fingers over the left side of her ribs. “How did you get this one? Looks nasty.”

“It was,” Safir mused, bowing her head. “Nasty scar for a nasty girl, I guess.”

“I hope that’s in reference to what we just did.”

“Yeah, go ahead and think that,” she laughed, locking her fingers around his. “That was a genlock’s arrow. One of the first hits I took during the Blight. I remember being more annoyed than hurt, but Alistair couldn’t stop himself from freaking out. I kept telling him to relax, but he just gathered up every poultice we had and offered to apply them all for me. He must have loved getting to worry about me like that.”

“Sorry,” Orso cleared his throat, “who is this Alistair?”

“What?” she blinked, having been lost in her own memory.

“Alistair. You haven’t mentioned that name to me before.”

“Oh… oh. He was, er… he was a Warden, like me. We stopped the Blight together.” 

“Right,” he said suspiciously. “Is that _all_ you did together?”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, you know what that means, Safir.”

Pangs of guilt old and new fought a war inside her head, each tugging in a different direction to find an answer to Orso’s question. She took too long to find one, and so with a deflated sigh Orso withdrew his hand.

“Right, I get it. You’ll go back to him, and this is temporary.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, it’s fine, alright? If anything I at least understand why you were so hesitant before, and I—”

“You have it wrong,” Safir insisted, turning around after standing and tightly wrapping her hands around the one he’d pulled away. “This, us, what we did… it was great, okay? And knowing me it’ll almost definitely happen again.”

Orso puzzled at her with demanding eyes that betrayed a hint of optimism. “What happened with Alistair?”

“He’s… he’s dead.” Safir watched anxiously as the revelation twisted on his features. “He’s been dead for a long time. I would really love to just leave at that, if we could.”

Though she could tell he wanted more, Orso agreed nonetheless. “If that’s how you want it, then that’s where we’ll leave it.”

“Good. Thank you.” Standing above him, Safir saw traces of curiosity and want of affection splash within his eyes. Steadying herself with her hands under his ears she leaned in and gave him one long kiss, which he returned eagerly. “Come on,” she said, clapping him on the shoulders. “Get dressed.”

“Get dressed?”

“Yes, get dressed,” she repeated as she stooped to pick her shirt up off the floor. “We can’t just fuck our way to Tantervale.”

“Really? I was very much looking forward to that.”

“Very funny, Orso.” Pulling her head through the shirt’s neckhole and drawing it down across her front, Safir gave the proposition some more thought. “I mean, yeah, we probably will, but you know what I mean.”

“Well that’s good to hear, at least,” he said. “Should we stop for something to eat before we get out of the city?”

“Maybe just another of those sugar cones,” Safir answered as she crossed the room to pick up her trousers. “I don’t want to waste any time getting that blood sample.”

“Safir, that temple is thousands of years old. If someone was going to get to that blood before you, they’d have done it already. Won’t you relax a moment?”

“Relaxing isn’t exactly my forte, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, it’s an important skill to have,” Orso said while scratching his head and trying to remember where his clothes ended up. “Do you think I’d be able to maintain such highly stressful employment if I didn’t know how to kick back with a pint and a pretty woman every now and then?”

“No, you haven’t got the necessary constitution.”

“And whatever do you mean by that?”

“I think you can infer, Orso.” Tying the drawstring in her trousers, Safir studied his offended glare to admire her work.

“Ah, but see, I think you’re wrong on that count,” he disagreed, crossing the bed in an instant and drawing up close. “You don’t get muscles like _these_ by not having constitution.”

“Oh, yeah? I used to run with a Qunari. I'm not easily impressed.”

“Maybe, but I’m still strong enough to do this!” Before she could stop him, Orso’s arms closed tightly around her thighs and lifted her high into the air with a twirl. “How’s this for constitution?”

“Put me down! Put me down!” Safir yelped, clinging to his shoulders and laughing her head off as she sailed through the air. “Put me down already, you ass!”

“As you wish!” Orso agreed. He dropped her back onto the mattress and left her there with a kiss on her hand before he turned to get dressed at last.


	24. X57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For asking the right question, this chapter is dedicated to Zinjadu.

Leaning with him against a large, slanted boulder at the edge of their campsite, Safir nestled deeper into Orso’s shoulder while gazing up at the blanket of stars that hung above the cloudless night. Picking a cluster of them at random, she pointed with a lazy finger so that he could see.

“What about that one?” she asked.

“That would be Toth. You can tell by the little wings on the side, see?” Leaning closer from her left side, Orso bent his fingers somewhat awkwardly, loosely following the pattern in the stars overhead. “Toth, of course, was the Old God of fire. Must have had a right foul temper for him to be notable among fucking dragons for fire, of all things. Here’s a fun bit of information you may not be aware of: Toth was the second of the archdemons to be defeated.”

“Third.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re talking to a former Warden, remember? Toth was killed during the Third Blight, not the second. You’re thinking of Zazikel.”

“Well, this is embarrassing, isn’t it?” Orso said, scratching his head.

“I feel just fine.”

“Very funny. Speaking of Zazikel though, his constellation is right… _there_.” Orso dragged his finger across the sky until it landed on another cluster of stars, this one a curious bunch that vaguely resembled a turtle. “Zazikel, as you probably know, represented chaos. That’s why his constellation looks like a plate of scrambled eggs.”

“This is so surprising,” said Safir. “I never took you for a religious type. How is it you know so much about these constellations?”

“Oh, I’m not, and I don’t.”

“Wait, what?”

“I don’t know anything about constellations,” Orso admitted.

“So you’ve been making all of this shit up?”

“Yup,” he proudly declared, his bassy voice resonating in her chest.

Safir punched him lightly on the ribs amid bouts of laughter.

“Now who’s embarrassed?” Orso asked.

“You son of a bitch. There’s only room for one smart mouth in this camp, you understand?”

“For one thing, I fundamentally disagree with that statement,” he said. While Safir feigned an offended smirk and met his eyes, she felt the fingers of his right hand poke and prod at her temple. “And for a second, you can’t deny how irresistibly attractive you found me when you thought I was telling you the truth. There’ll be no living that down, I’m afraid.”

Safir scoffed with a roll of her eyes and turned away from him to look back up at the stars, none of which she knew the slightest thing about. “As if I’m the one that needs to worry about that,” she sighed after a pause. In the corner of her vision, she saw Orso’s thick brows scrunch up in confusion.

“What does that mean?”

Safir yawned and pulled herself up into a sitting position, patting him twice on the knee. “Don’t think about it too hard,” she said. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Standing and stretching, she rounded the boulder and made for the single tent they’d pitched for the night. She grasped the hem of her loose shirt with crossed arms and pulled it off in one swift motion. Turning to face Orso, who was now sitting up but still facing away from her, she bunched the linen up and tossed it so that it landed on his head and shoulders. Safir watched him grab the shirt in surprise and begin inspecting it before pushing aside the tent flaps and heading inside to wait for him to join her.

# ***

Following a lengthy and tedious negotiation with a guardsman who cared far too much about his job, Safir and Orso gained admission into the city that played host to the final obstacle that blocked her path to the cure. They walked a short way past the dark wooden gateway on cobbled streets and took in their surroundings, which were every bit as gray and dour as their reputation held.

“Well, we’ve officially fucked our way to Tantervale,” Orso said. His head turned as though on a swivel, and Safir could already sense the boredom behind his judging eyes as they fell upon steeple after miserable steeple. “Maker. Looks like it’s true what they say about this place. It’s impossible to sneeze without it hitting a chantry.”

“If things go right, we’ll barely remember we were here,” said Safir. “Let’s just find an inn to stay at and get this done.”

“Damn. You must be really focused if you’re not even interested in complaining about things.”

“We’re close, Orso. We’re so close.” Safir turned to face him and felt more hope in that moment than the last decade of her life had given her. “I’m winning back my future today. Even I can’t find something to be mad about right now.”

Orso brought his palm to her cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” he said simply. “Happy. I think I like it.”

Safir could only respond with a weak grin, her words taken from her by the rush of blood in her chest. Looking back down the street and the various intersections that crossed it, she wondered at which would be the quickest path to an inn. 

“Come on,” she said at last, stepping off to begin the search. “Let’s not waste time.”

Brief exploration brought Safir and Orso to an inn built along the white-walled banks of the Minanter River. Inside their second story room Safir paced in front of the bed, where Orso was sitting with a skeptical look on his face and restless, twiddling thumbs.

“Are you sure you want to split up?” he asked. “It would be safer to go together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Orso. It’s an ancient temple most people won’t even have heard of. Who could be hiding in there?”

“Loads of people. Bandits, outlaws, fugitives of the law, dangerous wild animals, debaucherous statesmen… Need I go on?”

“Even if I thought any of those things might be there, I wouldn’t be worried. They’d be stupid to fight me.”

Orso shook his head with a deep sigh. “Your confidence is always admirable, Safir, but I really don’t think this is wise.”

“The only thing I have more of than confidence is stubbornness. It’s decided, alright?” Safir stopped her pacing and placed her hands on her hips, facing him. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

“For pity’s sake, yes.”

Ignoring him, Safir listed the ingredients on Viridas’ translation anyway. “We’ll need felandaris and dragonthorn, just like Morrigan suggested. Vandal aria, embrium, and amrita vein, too. I wouldn’t say no to a blood lotus, either.”

“Blood lotus? Is that one of the reagents?”

“Well, no, but I’ve always wanted to try it. If this cure goes sideways, I might not get another chance.”

“That’s not the best idea you’ve had,” Orso said. “I had a friend—and I use the word ‘had’ very intentionally—who ate an entire blood lotus thinking it was a fanciful Orlesian dessert. Mind you, he was already quite saturated with wine by this point. Anyway, the combination of being piss drunk and losing his mind to the blood lotus had him convinced that he was a parakeet.”

“What happened?”

“He threw himself off a cliff into the sea.”

“Ouch. Not the best way to go,” Safir said, wringing her wrists and reconsidering.

“He survived the fall actually. Missed the rocks. But by the time a patrol boat found him, he thought he was a pirate. The idiot told them so, and they hanged him the next day. No one believed us when we said he was just hallucinating.” Orso stared vacantly at the floorboards in apparent mourning. Finally shaking himself free of the memory, he met eyes with Safir once more. “Anyway, you’ve only listed the herbal ingredients. We still need to get our hands on—”

“Lyrium dust and deepstalker bile, I know. Morrigan has that covered. We’ll need her to put the cure together, anyway.” Safir approached the shuttered window and peered in between the slats to check on the weather outside. Cloudy but dry. “Look, I should get going,” she said, turning away from the window to meet his eyes. “It’ll take me a few hours to reach the temple, and I don’t want to lose the light.”

Orso looked up at her with resigned doubt. “Would it be useless to advise against going alone one more time?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, then,” he said as he stood from the mattress. Crossing the room, he picked up the translation and stuffed it into a pocket. “I’ll scour the city’s apothecaries until I have everything on this list. Now come here.”

Safir walked into his outstretched arms to return the hug he’d offered her. Craning her head as his arms loosed around her, she turned the hug into a long and tender kiss.

“I guess I’ll be off,” she said after their lips parted. Orso pressed his forehead into hers.

“Good luck, Safir.”

“Thanks. Won’t need it.” Safir spun away from him and pranced over to the room’s door. With her fingers already wrapped around the knob, she added, “Next time you see me, this stupid quest will be over with, and I’ll finally be a real person again.”

Pushing open the door, she descended a flight of stairs and stepped out of the inn and into the cobblestone street that lined the northern side of the river. Safir glanced about at the few people she could see milling about their days in the heart of the city. Most of them turned their noses up at her to some extent; perhaps the sight of a lone elven girl with swords at her sides offended their good Andrastian sensibilities. Keeping her head down to avoid arousing anyone’s ire, she sped out of the city after crossing a stone bridge to the Minanter’s southern bank. Outside of its unadorned walls, the land that surrounded Tantervale was pockmarked by sparse patches of birch and oak interrupted by harsh rocky outcrops and the odd pond scattered between them. By far the most notable object on the horizon apart from the city itself was the tall and densely forested hill that rose out of the ground a few miles south of the river. Dilapidated and lonely works of stone sat in ruins atop its crown, though few were visible through the overgrowth that surrounded them.

Drizzling rain fell over the leather that topped her shoulders, its unsteady beat rising and falling as she made her way to the cult’s abandoned temple. Upon reaching it, she discovered that the hill was much steeper than it had looked at a distance. An ancient road wound up its side, the weathered stones that comprised it covered in vines and roots. Sparing a glance at Tantervale when she reached the top, Safir steadied herself before entering what she hoped would be the final leg of her journey. At the end of the road, set into the hillside under the gnarled roots of an enormous oak, the temple entrance took the form of a pitch dark tunnel behind a square frame of hewn stone blocks.

Safir stepped inside after a moment’s hesitation. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, a few of the tunnel’s details emerged. Much like the road that led here, roots and vines filled every crevice of the stone interior. The dim light that bled into the tunnel from the outside was reflected in the runoff that streaked down the walls at odd intervals. Further inside, she rounded a corner and peered down another dark corridor at the end of which light streamed down into a wide open room. Catching the pale rays on worn brass pedestals at the end of the room, a large array of vials sat in waiting.

Safir strode confidently forward, her focus pinned on the glasses ahead of her, when the wriggling of roots and the sounding of a few ethereal notes stopped her in her tracks.

“ _Shit_.”

Shutting her eyes with a grimace, she called upon the taint in her blood and listened for the song. Once more she allowed it to grace her ears, and against that ghostly choir she heard a lone, guttural voice. Moments after she’d heard it, a stout genlock stepped into view at the other end of the hall, staff in hand. Safir drew her swords wordlessly, relieved that the blighted soldier was at least by himself.

“Come on, you ugly motherfucker,” she goaded. “You’re in my way.”

She managed to take only a handful of steps toward it when it slammed the butt of its staff into the ground repeatedly, cracking a wicked grin to reveal sharp, slobbering teeth. The ground beneath her feet trembled. Stones fell from their places on the tunnel walls. High pitched chanting filtered in from the holes they left behind. Hordes of angry ghasts flooded in from burrows they’d dug into the walls ahead, stopping just a few paces before her and filling the hall with their echoing growls. There were too many of them to count, but Safir refused to budge. She had yet to claim her prize from this ruin, and so it was time to do what all brave warriors and heroes do when faced with such challenging odds.

Squaring her hips and tightening her grip on the sword hilts in her hands, she turned and ran the other way.

Safir sped wildly through the hall, attempting to put as much ground between herself and the ghasts as possible. Every now and then she ducked and recoiled as the whistle of an arrow flew past her, sometimes missing her by mere inches while she made her escape. Turning the corner brought some relief, or it would have if not for the pair of goblins that now stood in her way, sword and mace drawn. 

Somehow, acting on pure instinct, her arms flailed about as she passed them, cutting them down while she avoided their blows and regained the lost speed. The light of day now in sight, maybe there was hope after all that she would leave this miserable place alive. Panting, she flew back through the exit and started on the path that led down the hill. She turned her head as she ran, hoping to see an empty trail behind her rather than a horde of eager monsters waiting to avenge their fallen comrades. But that which lay behind her, she soon learned, was not the most immediate of her worries. She turned her attention back to the trail ahead just in time to watch the blurry face of a long-haired elf rapidly approach her own.

The collision with him was grand, sending them tumbling over one another down the sloping path before they finally came to a rest, Safir hovering over her unfortunate victim.

“I was wondering when I would see you again,” the elf said with a wry smile and a flirtatious wink.

“ _Zevran_!” she shouted, utterly confounded by his sudden reappearance. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, as it happens, I—”

“Never mind!” she stopped him, covering his mouth with a gloved palm and giving a cautionary glance to the temple entrance behind them, out of which the tiny demons were just beginning to pour. “Darkspawn! Ghasts! Run!”

Without another word, she resumed her sprint, kicking dirt up behind her and leaving Zevran’s life in his own hands. The road bent around a sharp edge on the hillside only a hundred or so yards away. Once she was safely behind the bend, she doubled over to catch whatever breath she could in the spare seconds before Zevran caught her up. She reached out to him as he rounded the corner, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to a stop.

“Down!” she gasped, pointing directly ahead across the steep slope that flanked the other side of the narrow trail.

“You are crazy if you think I am throwing myself down a mountain!” Zevran protested, crossing his arms and furrowing angry brows in her direction.

“I’m sorry, Zev,” she replied, shoving him backwards over the lip and jumping down after him. Wet grass and fallen leaves made for an easy time of sliding down the hillside, though the occasional presence of a rock or root made it a very painful experience. A couple hundred feet of elevation and several bruises later, they finally came to a stop at the next level of the road, having gained at least ten minutes on the genlock’s army, who would have to follow it. “Too many,” Safir explained breathlessly.

Zevran simply stared his righteous anger at her, rubbing a sore spot on his back and staunching a bloody nose with his other hand. 

“That was not nice,” he grumbled after a few moments of tense silence.

“It was either that or we both die,” she said, standing up and extending a hand to help her friend to his feet. “Come on, we have to keep moving. They can’t shoot us through the trees, but it won’t take them long to reach us.”

Together, they set off down the road at a jog, hoping the darkspawn would give up on them long before they’d have to run any faster to stay safe. They slowed to a comfortable gait once satisfied with the ground they’d covered. Working out a kink in her shoulder as they walked, Safir eyed him curiously.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t!” said Zevran, a twinkle in his eye. “This meeting was pure coincidence!”

Safir raised an eyebrow. “How did you know I was here?”

“Ah, Safir. Word travels fast in the north if one keeps an ear to the ground. I heard tell of your adventures in the Imperium from a few friends in low places. You have been busy!”

“Friends in low places? I haven’t exactly been advertising, you know.”

Zevran dusted off his leather armor and straightened out his freshly mussed hair. When Safir poked him in the arm to hurry his answer, he simply glanced at her and let out an almost disappointed breath.

“Dovatocus is a very large bear, my friend, and you have run him through with a spear.”

“Dovatocus? You know about that creep?”

“All too well. Many Crows have perished attempting to end his life. He has been quite vocal in demanding that you be captured.” Safir shot him a nervous look to which he responded with a reassuring pat on the back. “I would not worry. I doubt anyone could find you who you did not want to. Except for myself, of course.”

“Right,” she said, stopping him with a tug on his shoulder. “Speaking of which, why did you follow me here?”

“I was not aware that friends require a reason to pay one another a visit. It has been many years since last I saw you, Safir. When I got wind that you had resurfaced, I wished to see you for myself.” Zev’s eyes traced her up and down, lingering a moment on the cyan sash at her waist. “You look well.”

“Oh…”

“Anyway, it is wonderful to see you,” he continued with a grin. “Would you care to tell me what you are doing in the most boring city in Thedas?”

Safir’s brows scrunched up in response to the warmth he offered her. With the memory of their last encounter plucking at her heartstrings, she pulled him into a sudden and tight hug that he returned after a moment’s stunned hesitation.

“Who are you and what have you done with the Warden?” he asked in a chuckle.

“I’m sorry, Zev. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not listening to you. You’re a better friend than I deserve.”

“That is probably true.” Zev laughed as he stepped out of the hug and looked her in the eyes. “But I don’t mind. I would likely have done the same as you so soon after what happened to Rinna.”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t shitty,” said Safir. She rubbed her forehead in thought and continued down the road to the city. “Could have saved myself a lot of time and misery by staying with you.”

“Ha! Now those are words that an assassin seldom hears. Anyway, if you’ll permit me to ask you a second time…”

“What is it?”

“An angry horde of ghasts inexplicably led by a darkspawn is the reason you fled that temple, yes? What motivated you to come here to begin with?”

“Good question,” she answered, withholding her frustration at having to explain herself yet again. “I’ll make it short. I’m looking for Old God blood. It’s the last ingredient I need to cure myself of the taint.”

Zev’s eyes flared open in surprise. “Strangeness follows you like a foul odor, my friend. How do you intend to complete your quest now that the temple has proven inhospitable?”

“That’s what we’re going back to the city for. My friend and I booked a room at an inn there. Maybe the three of us can work something out together. Or hell, maybe we can just fight our way through.”

“Hm, I suppose we may. There were many ghasts behind me, but not so many that a few well placed grenades couldn’t even the odds a bit.” 

“Not a bad idea,” Safir agreed, scratching her chin. “Maybe we can get some at a blacksmith before we head back to the room.”

“How many beds are in this room of yours?” asked Zev, a suggestive lilt in his voice.

Safir cleared her throat and avoided making eye contact. “One…”

“And this friend of yours? Do they have a name?”

“ _His_ name is Orso,” she said impatiently. “And before you ask, yes. I’ve fucked him. Do you think we can act like adults about it?”

“From what you’re telling me,” Zev laughed, “it sounds like you already have. I won’t bother you, Safir. I will simply have to leave the lurid details to my imagination.”

“Nine years, and you haven’t changed at all, Zev.”

“And I thank the Maker for that every day, haha!”

Catching up on a decade’s worth of news—most of it Zevran’s—took them most of the way to Tantervale. When they finally arrived after the guard put up another fight against letting her inside, Safir made short work of reaching the inn and hoped to get the introductions out of the way just as quickly. The sooner the three of them could go back to that temple, the better. With any luck, she thought, her prize wouldn’t be kept from her very long. 

“We’re just in here,” she said, leading Zevran to the third room on the left side of the hall upstairs. She tried the knob, but the door was locked. 

“Is it customary for guests to be denied access to their own rooms in this city?” asked Zev.

“No. I left Orso with the key. Maybe he’s not back yet?”

“Back from what?”

“Buying herbs,” she answered. “For the cure. I’ve been gone for hours, though. I don’t think it would have taken him this long.”

Safir rapped on the door three times, loudly.

“Orso!” she shouted. “You asleep in there?”

Nothing. Crouching down, Zevran ran his fingers over a few nicks near the bottom of the door.

“Scratch marks,” he whispered. “Were these here before?”

Safir swallowed nervously and prayed she simply hadn’t noticed them earlier.

“Stay here,” she ordered, and sped down the stairs into the lobby. There, a portly innkeeper busied himself with a book while manning the front desk. “Room five,” she called from the bottom of the stairs. “Has the tenant in room five come back yet? Messy black hair, thick beard?”

The man at the desk concentrated a moment before answering. “I think I saw him return a few hours ago, yes. Why, is there a problem with the room?”

Safir didn’t answer. Instead she raced back upstairs and rejoined Zevran at the door to her room. “Move.”

“What are you—?”

Before Zevran could finish asking, Safir kicked with the flat of her boot and tore the lock from its frame. The door swung inward and bounced off the wall inside, hitting her in the shoulder as she entered to take stock of the mess Orso had left behind. The sheets were ripped from the mattress. The dresser lay sideways against the wall, one of its legs broken. Beside it, Orso’s backpack lay open with half of its contents strewn about the floor in the direction of the open window.

“What the fuck happened here?” Safir asked, breathless and demanding.

“I take your surprise to mean the two of you are not simply this rough in bed,” said Zevran.

“Shut up, Zev. We have to find out what happened to Orso!”

Inside and around the backpack Safir found a variety of herbs and reagents, clear signs that Orso had checked everything off the list and returned to the room. Zevran stepped past her while she stuffed everything back into the drawstring pack and searched for clues behind the bed.

“Okay, he obviously didn’t leave willingly. There was a fight here, and maybe he went out the window to escape. He might still be in the city.”

“Safir?”

“He can take care of himself but he’s no soldier. Fuck, I hope he’s okay.”

“Safir, you should see this.”

Standing from the floor to answer his call, Safir met Zevran’s worried eyes. He held a short dagger in one hand and a slip of parchment in the other. 

“It was pinned to the nightstand,” he said.

Her breaths quick and shaky, Safir crossed over to where he stood and grabbed the parchment. She turned it over and read its message aloud in a nervous rasp: _The Silent Plains. Follow us._

“What should we do?” asked Zevran.

“What do you mean, what should we do? We’re going after them, obviously.” Safir stuck her head out the window to get a look at the street below, where a set of carriage tracks in a patch of mud led west toward the city’s exit.

“But we don’t even know who we are dealing with. It could be a trap, no?”

Turning away from the window, she dug her eyes into Zevran’s. “Then we’ll spring it.”

“It could be dangerous. It could be Dovatocus.”

“I don’t care. Come on.” Safir scooped Orso’s backpack up from the floor and tossed it into Zevran’s arms. “There are carriage tracks outside. Whoever took Orso must have left them.”

“If this really is Dovatocus, I think a wiser course of action would be to—”

“We’re not debating this, Zev. Let’s _go_.” Fire burning in her lungs, she stomped out of the room and down the stairs. Once outside she rounded the building’s corner to inspect the tracks closely. “Oh, fuck. These look old. At least a few hours.”

“Safir…?”

“Let’s get moving. We’ve lost enough time.” Safir took off and followed the tracks without pause. Beside her, Zevran cast concerned glances her way every few moments.

“If this is a trap, it is likely that they have already killed your friend,” he warned.

“No way.”

“They do not need him alive, if all they wish is for you to follow.”

“He’s not dead, Zev. He can’t be.”

Despite her insistence, Safir could not deny that Zevran’s words were reasoned. Her brows knit in worry as her confidence waned.

“I am sorry this is happening,” he quietly admitted.

“What?”

“Orso is more than just a friend, isn’t he? You care deeply for one another.”

“No, no it’s… fuck, I don’t know, Zev. Maybe,” she breathed, blinking rapidly. “It doesn’t matter. We just have to find him, alright? We have to save him.”

“We will, Safir. Lead on.”

The carriage tracks led them out of the city’s gate and quickly veered north, going off the road and into the hinterland surrounding the city. Starless night fell before long, but Safir refused to camp. Lighting a torch of brambles and scrap fabric, she marched on in a tiny bubble of light that crawled through the darkness. While Zevran tried his best to focus her mind on plans and contingencies for those plans, she made room only for the anger that fueled her every step. Hours upon hours they walked, the young night growing old before they’d seen any sign of Orso or his captors. According to maps, the Silent Plains were just over a day’s hike from the city. Safir reached its borders before the light of dawn rose above the horizon, the ground she tread slowly transitioning from green and wooded to barren and dusty. The first of the desert’s modest dunes emerged in the distance when the clouds above parted and the moon shone in their place. Soon after, the tracks split in two.

“Look at that,” said Safir, rushing ahead to the fork. The parallel lines gouged by wagon wheels into the earth stayed their course and plunged into the field of sand. A lone set of footprints broke from the trail to forge its own, turning toward the east in the direction of a small patch of forest.

“What do you make of this?” Zevran asked her.

“I don’t know. It’s obvious the fuckers went that way,” she answered, pointing into the Plains. “But these prints could be Orso’s. Maybe he got away.”

“That is unlikely.”

“Well, he’s surprised me before. We should split up.”

“And face these threats alone?”

Safir rounded on Zevran quickly. “Have you got a better plan? These footprints might lead to Orso, and if they don’t, you can just kill whoever they lead you to.”

“And what will you do?” he demanded. “Walk straight into the trap the men in that carriage have lain? This could be just what they wanted you to do.”

“And so what if it is?” Safir broke from Zevran’s gaze and stared with baleful eyes into the desert. She lowered her voice to a menacing growl. “Orso might be there, or he might not. That’s why you’re following the footprints. All I know is, whoever is in that carriage is going to die tonight. Painfully.”

“I disagree,” Zev sighed, “but I can tell there is no talking you out of this. Let us meet back here in an hour if we do not reach—”

“I’ll meet you here when I’m done. Go.”

Without sparing another glance at her friend, Safir set off in pursuit, her fingers twitching over her sword hilts with the boiling blood that coursed through them.The tracks led her a short way into the Plains, disappearing behind a dune only a mile or so from the fork in the trail. Around the bend, glowing under the light of the moon, the carriage was finally within reach. Candlelight flickered from behind the canvas tarp that covered it. When she was just a hundred paces away from tearing it open, the candle died and three men clambered out into the dust. They lined up shoulder to shoulder, one of them limping into place between the other two. At her approach, the man on the left kicked the middle one’s leg out from under him and put him on his knees. He slouched forward, barely able to hold himself up. Blood dripped from his face in thick globs.

“What have you done to him, you fuckers?!” she screamed, her voice shattering over the sand. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Safir closed in on the kidnappers, stopping only twenty feet away when the man who’d kicked Orso down raised a hand to slow her approach. She held Starfang and Moonmolar at the ready.

“While I admit that I enjoyed breaking his face, you should know that Avitus chose to let it happen. Had he given us your location, we might have killed him mercifully.” Sneering, the man paused to draw and brandish a short, single-edged knife. “As it happens, his fate now rests with you.”

“Damn fucking right it does,” she threatened, closing the distance by another step. “I hope drawing me out here was worth your life.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man said. Pulling Orso’s head back by the hair, he revealed the pulpy mess that had become of him. They’d beaten him with the savagery of an ogre. Swollen eyes and a fat lip were all she could make out behind the streaming blood that glinted in the moonlight. “Take another step forward and I put this poor bastard out of his misery.”

“It’s… it’s okay… Safir…” Orso grunted. She tightened her grip enough that it hurt upon hearing his slurred speech. Her lips trembled as he tried to say more. “Just… kill these arseholes.”

“Not another word from you, Avitus,” said the man with the knife, pressing it against Orso’s throat. “This decision is hers to make. Dovatocus knows we won’t survive a fight against you, Warden. All he wants is your swords—both of them, now. In exchange, Avitus lives.”

Safir’s enraged breaths fell torn and ragged from her mouth. Her watering eyes were locked on the man with the knife, studying his every detail. The scraggly black hair on the scalp. The pierced and studded ears. The sinewy arms. Which would Starfang take first?

“Don’t listen to him!” Orso shouted. Dovatocus’ man leaned into the knife, cutting into the skin. “It’s alright… Take them down.”

Safir scraped her boots across the sand, her nerves singing with the desire to rush forward and cut. She looked back and forth between the two mercs and coiled her stance to charge on them when her eyes fell on Orso and fear crept into the anger that guided her hands. 

“Oh, Warden?” the merc sang, pointing the knife inward to speed things along.

She ignored him and stared on at Orso’s swollen, bleeding face. It lolled forward and back as he struggled to cling onto awareness. She shut her eyes and deflated in an instant, tossing the swords to the ground with a sigh of relief. The mercs left Orso’s side and collected them at once, colliding with her at the shoulder before climbing back into the carriage and disappearing into the night.

Safir ran to Orso’s side the moment they were clear of him, skidding on her knees when she reached him. He fell backwards into her arms.

“ _Fuck_ , Orso!” She cradled his head in her hands and he simply stared back up at her, barely able to see through the blood that caked his eyes. “Oh, fuck, look at you. What did they do to you?”

“They wanted… you,” he mumbled between heavy breaths. “I didn’t… give you up. Beat me for it.”

“It’s okay now,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You’re okay now… I’ve got you, Orso. You’re okay.”

Safir felt a bloodied hand clasp over hers. Gasping for breath, she could only stare out into the distance.


	25. Death in the Desert

“Where… where are we going?” asked Orso, leaning on her for support while she led him out of the Plains. “My head is splitting. I can’t walk much further.”

“Quit whining,” Safir snapped. “We’re going where we’re going.”

“Obviously. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you even care?”

“What?”

Safir threw his arm off her shoulders and pointed an accusing finger at his beaten face. “Why the fuck did you tell me to let them kill you? Are you stupid, or is the pain really that bad? Did I come all this way just to rescue a coward?”

Orso struggled to straighten himself out before answering. His injuries softened her anger, but only slightly. 

“Safir, I… Of course I’m glad to be alive. And I’m relieved that you ignored me.”

“Why did you say it?” she demanded.

“I just didn’t think they would actually let me go, that’s all.”

“I’d have ripped their faces off if they hadn’t. They’re lucky they stuck to their word.”

“Maker, sometimes you scare me.” Orso palmed his temples with a grimace and a few labored breaths. “Please, can we stop and rest a little?”

Taking pity on him again, she stepped back under his arm. “Not yet,” she sighed. “Have to get you somewhere safe.”

“There’s nowhere safe for miles around, Safir,” Orso groaned. “Dovatocus… He’s still out there.”

“What? How?”

“Camped nearby, I think. Heard it between punches from one of the bastards that kidnapped me.”

Safir’s eyes swayed from side to side as she walked and considered her options. “Good. He’s a dead man.”

“For fuck’s sake… Please tell me you’re not planning what I think you’re planning.”

“You’re damn right I am.”

Orso shut his eyes and cursed under his breath. “Safir, if he finds you—or worse, if you find him—no good will come of it. I promise you that.”

“I’d say Dovatocus eating my knife for breakfast is a pretty good thing, wouldn’t you?”

“If you could manage it, sure,” Orso said. “But you won’t.”

“Like hell I won’t.”

“Damn it, Safir, what do you think you can accomplish going up against Dovatocus’ entire camp by yourself?”

“I won’t be by myself.”

“Well I’m in no condition to help, if that’s what you mean.”

Safir shook her head and squinted ahead where she knew the fork in the tracks lay waiting. “Not you. Ran into an old friend at the temple.”

“An old friend? Who?”

“Name’s Zevran. Used to be a Crow. Fought with me during the Blight.”

“Oh, so there’ll be two of you. Brilliant. That solves everything.” Bowing his head, Orso spat out a mixture of blood and saliva, wincing at the effort. “Crows are never as tough as they think they are. Do you have any idea how many of them Dovatocus has killed? You could have three Zevrans at your back and it wouldn’t make a fucking difference.”

“Zev isn’t like other Crows,” Safir argued. “You put two blades in his hands and he’s damn near as good as I am. He’s fought with me against a ton of blood mages, not to mention the Blight itself.”

“Maker, you’re like a fucking mule!” Orso tried to shout, clutching at his ribs when his voice faltered. “I won’t waste my breath trying to talk you out of this… Just know it’s a shit idea.”

They walked the rest of the way to the fork in silence, Orso tensing up as he spotted Zevran waiting for them in the distance.

“Please tell me that’s your old friend and not another of Dovatocus’ men.”

“That’s him,” Safir nodded. “You can rest now. Maker knows you could use it.”

Laboring under Orso’s weight, she closed the distance to the fork and nodded at Zevran upon reaching it. 

“Can you lay out his bedroll, Zev?” she asked.

“I take it this is Orso, then? Still breathing, I see. I am glad I was wrong.”

“So am I,” Orso groaned. “Bedroll. Please.”

“Right away,” said Zevran.

In another minute, the roll was unfurled and Orso lowered himself slowly onto it. Safir crouched and pulled a rag out of her pocket, slowly dabbing it on his face to start the ugly process of cleaning him up.

“What did those tracks lead you to?” she asked Zev.

“They continued on a short way and veered off into the wood. There was a large camp there. I counted ten men, though there may be more of them.”

“Was Dovatocus there?”

“I believe so.”

Safir paused in the middle of wiping the dried blood off of Orso’s eye, biting her lip in thought. “Chances?”

“Of what?” said Zevran.

“Of doing what the Crows couldn’t.”

Zev’s eyes traced over the empty loops on her belt. A knowing gleam shone behind them.

“I like where your head is at, my friend!” he suddenly declared. “Our man is not far away. Perhaps you are right. We could pay him a visit and slip away with the swords before anyone is any the wiser, could we not?”

“Or we could sneak in and slit every last throat in his camp.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart!”

“Idiots, both of you,” Orso complained.

“Probably,” said Zevran, “but you cannot deny that this is exciting!”

“Don’t try to talk, Orso. You’re a mess.” Safir enforced the order by folding the cloth and wiping the blood from his broken lips. “What’s the plan, Zev?”

“We will have to break the perimeter somehow. Dovatocus has watchers looking out in all directions.”

“What do you think? Kill one and sneak up behind the rest?”

“That would work, yes.” Zev smacked his lips and narrowed his eyes. “We could split up and approach Dovatocus from both sides. Killing the first watchman without arousing the others’ suspicion is rather complicated, however.”

“Lure him away, then,” Safir said. “Get him away from his post and take him out. Think we could make a trap for him?”

“Not a leghold, no, and certainly we could not fashion anything as elaborate as what we saw in the Brecilian ruins. But…” Zevran paced away from her and stared into the wood with his hands on his hips. “Perhaps we are not entirely without option. I have a blowgun, and I know how to make a very swift acting poison with felandaris, if you have any.”

“There's some in Orso's backpack. I’ll need it for the cure. I could spare you some of it, if you don’t need much.”

“I require very little. Demon weed is very appropriately named, you’ll find.”

Orso curled his eyebrows and swatted Safir’s hand away from his mouth. “This poison… how’s it work?”

“It is… quite unpleasant, even in description.”

“I don’t care. How does it work?”

“Felandaris has strange and varied properties when it interacts with magic,” Zevran explained, fidgeting a little. “When combined with the right substance, it creates a poison that…”

“Out with it.”

“Well, it corrupts the soul. Those afflicted will collapse immediately, but the damage done is entirely spiritual. They will slowly be destroyed from within. It is an unmerciful death.”

Orso shut his eyes and sighed. “I don’t like this, Safir. ”

“Do we have any other options, Zevran?”

“I wish we did.”

“Shit,” Safir whispered. She took measured breaths as she considered the plan. “How long will it take you to make the poison?”

“Safir!”

“What, Orso?! We’re out of options.”

“Are you honestly telling me you’re okay with this?” he demanded. “A dagger in the back is cruel enough, but this poison is just vile. Your swords are not worth it!”

“This is about more than Starfang. These people almost _killed_ you.”

“But they didn’t! You saw to that. What more do you need?”

Safir turned her shoulder to Orso’s pleading and crossed her arms. The ice in her veins refused to still.

“I’m not forgiving them. Not for that.”

“And I’m not asking you to, but for fuck’s sake, have some perspective! You are after swords, Safir. _Swords_! You have a knife to your name and Dovatocus is dangerous even on his own. This is vanity, and nothing more.”

“This opportunity won’t just fall into my lap again, Orso,” she said, meeting his glare. “They are _not_ getting away with this.”

“Then you risk everything in service of your own petty anger. I will have no part of this.”

“Yeah, well you’re too fucked up to come anyway. Stay here and drink some potions. Zev and I will be back soon.”

Rifling through Orso’s pack, she grabbed a fistful of felandaris and approached Zevran, who’d watched their argument in uncomfortable silence. 

“I’ll go scope out the camp,” she said as she passed him scraps of the herb. “Get to work.”

Safir marched away from the makeshift camp and retraced Zevran’s path until she’d gone just beyond the tree line, where she spied the watchers he’d mentioned. Orso had been right about Dovatocus’ manpower when they escaped his compound. There were only a handful of men keeping an eye on the perimeter, and they were spaced just close enough to cover all angles of approach. It was a full guard, but a weak one. Inching closer, Safir counted the tents in the center of the perimeter and took her best guess at which was home to the blood mage. It was an easy spot; the campground played host to only one tent larger than its fellows, with a pair of torches flanking its entrance.

Zevran approached from behind before long.

“As you can see,” he said, “Dovatocus’ tent is the furthest away from us right now. We will have to work our way through the entire perimeter guard.”

“That’s fine by me, Zev. Have you got the poison?”

“Of course. But before we go through with this…”

“You, too?” Safir snapped. “Really?”

“I have your back whatever you decide, my friend. You can trust in that.” Zevran rested a palm on Safir’s shoulder and knelt beside her. “But Orso’s argument was not unsound. We are skilled, yes, but this is a large risk. Are you confident that steel and vengeance are worthy of it?”

Safir sighed deeply and grit her teeth. “Give me the blowgun.”

Waiting a beat, Zevran handed it over.

“How do we lure the first one out?” she asked.

“I can get close enough for him to hear a whistle.” Zevran caught her attention and pointed to a tree with a break a short way up its trunk. The top had come crashing down, forming a natural arch. “I will draw him through there. Can you shoot accurately at this distance?”

Safir nodded. “Do it.”

“Here is the dart,” said Zevran. “Be careful not to touch the poison coating its tip. It will not kill you, but contact with the skin will cause a nasty burn.”

Satisfied with his warning, Zevran sped off deeper into the woods to bait her target. She kept a steady watch over the fallen tree until he slipped through it and continued toward the forest’s edge. Moments later, the guard followed. Safir took a deep breath as she brought the blowgun to her lips and released it with the guard in her sights. Flinching, the man pawed at his neck for a few seconds before dropping to the ground, lifeless.

Zevran was at her back soon after, letting out a single, solemn breath. “The body will remain alive until the poison has consumed his soul. Then it will begin to shut down.”

Safir handed the blowgun back to him wordlessly.

“We should focus on the rest of the guards now,” he continued. “Watching the poison work is very unsettling.”

“It had to be done,” Safir sighed. “Let’s go. I’ll take the right side. You go left. Meet behind Dovatocus’ tent.”

“Very well. How do you intend to proceed after that?”

“Rush inside and stab him until he stops moving.”

“Simple, but effective. I like it.”

Without another word, they split up and got to work. Still crouched, Safir crept through the wood and walked a path just inside the watch perimeter. Three men stood between her and Dovatocus’ tent compared to Zevran’s four. The first of them fell quickly and quietly when she drew Fang across his throat and lowered him softly to the ground. The second complicated matters by standing just in front of a tent. With no way to sneak behind him, Safir picked up a rock and tossed it at the canvas. Fang pierced his neck as he bent to investigate the noise.

Safir tightened her grip on the dagger as the approached the final watchman from behind. Scraggly hair fell over his thin, wiry shoulders. The night was too dark to check his knuckles for bruises. A twig broke under the plant of her boot when she was only paces away, a costly mistake that nonetheless confirmed her suspicions when the guard’s horrified eyes met her own.

“ _You_ ,” she hissed.

Safir pounced before he could move and covered his mouth as he fell onto his back. She leaned over him closely, staring into his eyes as they flared open each time Fang plunged into his gut. Leaning on Fang for support while it was still buried in his flesh, she pushed herself up and pulled her hand away from his gurgling lips.

“We… had a… _deal_ ,” he whimpered, convulsing. “We… let you _go_ …” 

“Like I give a fuck.” 

When she tired of watching him choke on his blood, she drove Fang up beneath his jaw and granted him a mercy he did not deserve. All that remained was the man who’d given the order. Just like they’d planned, she and Zevran met up just in front of Dovatocus’ tent. In his hands were two runed swords.

“I believe these are yours,” he whispered, tossing Starfang her way. “If you don’t mind, I think I will borrow one, just in case.”

Safir nodded. “Is the camp clear?”

“Of everyone except our target. I am ready if you are.”

Walking in step with one another, they edged toward the tent and steadied themselves for the charge. To their surprised, the flaps of the tent swung open and out stepped Dovatocus, a grin on his face and the twin slaves at his back. Safir tensed and shot Zevran a worried look. He looked as scared as she felt.

“Good evening, Warden Tabris,” Dovatocus called. “How do you feel?”

Safir’s heavy breaths made no room for words.

“I’d imagine you must feel quite good about yourself,” he continued. “But it seems as though you are once again in possession of something that does not belong to you. I would very much appreciate it if you could give it back.”

“Not happening,” Safir answered at last, her jaw clenched. “And the swords are not why I’m here.”

“No, I don’t suppose they would be, would they?” the mage teased. “But don’t let’s forget that they are still mine, all the same.”

“They won’t be for much longer. It’s pretty easy to take things from a dead man.”

“Ah, but _creating_ a dead man… Therein lies the trouble.”

“Many have died at your hands,” said Zevran, stepping forward. “It is time someone paid you back for it.”

Dovatocus doubled over in laughter at the threat, wiping his eyes to exaggerate his humor. “And you suppose you’ll be the ones to do it? How quaint. I’m truly sorry it has to come to this, Warden.”

“Sorry?” asked Safir. “You should be scared.”

“And perhaps I would be, if I were actually here.” Pausing to savor the moment, Dovatocus turned his head and addressed his slaves. “Stay close, my children, if you would. This will get messy.”

He vanished in a flash of smoke, leaving Filas and Dhenan behind him. Safir turned around just in time to see a ball of fire streak across the camp and land in between Zevran and herself. The explosion sent them both kareening across the camp, rolling end over end until they finally came to rest at its edge. A ring of flame sprouted around them, enclosing them with Dovatocus inside a cage of fire before either of them could get to their feet. Safir charged at him the moment she regained traction on the ground beneath her. A few paces behind her, Zevran did the same.

His staff dancing in his hands, the mage spun a shield of magic to deflect each of their strikes. Wisps of frost and electricity crashed over the barrier as she and Zevran worked in tandem to wear it down. She could feel it weaken after each blow; they were close. Safir angled Starfang for a mighty thrust to break through the shield at last but fell onto her stomach when the dirt dragged her away from him by her feet. She watched him swing his staff in an arc to blast Zevran away with a powerful gust of wind. He landed on his back just out of her reach.

“Zev!” she shouted. “We’re dead if we stay in this ring! Get to the trees!”

Arcs of lightning struck around them as they fled, jumping through the flames and sprinting into the wood to break Dovatocus’ line on them. They caught their breath in the short time it took him to extinguish the fire and follow them in. Safir listened for his footsteps and looped around the trees to sneak up behind him, meanwhile Zevran distracted him by stepping in his path. Nodding at one another, they broke into sprints and charged at the mage, though his barrier had already recovered. Their blades glanced off of the magical shield, but with enough frequency that Dovatocus only had attention enough to maintain it. Mirroring her ally, Safir alternated between kicks and stabs to break the mage’s guard. When the barrier faltered enough to land a direct hit, Zevran slammed his heel into Dovatocus’ temple and spun him around to face Safir, who followed the kick with a fist to his nose. She tossed Starfang back to Zevran, but his twin sweeps failed to land when Dovatocus blasted him away with a powerful jet of water. Exhausted and enraged, he swung his staff like a bat and aimed for her head. Caught without a sword, she raised a bracer to block and the staff shattered across her arm with a radiating burst of magical energy that threw her onto her back and knocked the air out of her lungs.

“You _cunt_!” Dovatocus stood over her like a rabid beast, practically frothing at the mouth in his bloodlust. He spun round in a frenzy searching for his slaves. “Filas, now!” 

Still at the edge of the campsite, the twins met her eyes regretfully. Filas, standing on the right, slowly brought a knife to his palm but was stopped in the act by his brother. Their master snarled and whimpered in surprise. 

“What?!” he cried hopelessly. “You would do this to me? I, your father who _raised_ you? You would _betray_ me so?!”

Fear shone in the twins’ eyes, but still they refused to cut.

“Fine, fine, _fine_! You worthless, miserable _ingrates_ , all of you!” Extending a hand, Dovatocus pulled Filas’ knife toward himself by magic. “I’ll do it myself!”

“Oh, fuck,” gasped Safir. Rising to her feet, she ran as quickly as she could to the forest’s edge and begged Zevran to follow. She heard the mage’s pained growl as he sunk the knife into himself, and soon after the ground shook with the force of his spells. She and Zevran stopped at the rim of the dusty plain that surrounded the forest, hiding behind trees about ten feet apart from each other. Zevran had left the swords behind in his haste.

“What do we do know?” he asked her in a harsh whisper.

“Same as before,” Safir said, struggling to maintain her composure. “Wait for him to get close and charge. Only this time we don’t fuck it up.”

“That is not a terrific plan, my friend.”

“I know. But it’s all we’ve got. He’s angry now. Sloppy.”

He nodded in reluctant agreement. “Very well. Let us make sure he does not—”

Zev’s words were cut short when a boulder tore a hole through the trunk of his tree. Splintering wood and rock pummeled his back and sent him flying several yards forward, where he landed face down in the sand and made no attempt to get back up. Safir’s heart sank into her stomach as fear crashed over her like high tide. Dovatocus cackled just a short way into the wood behind her. With only a few inches of steel in her hand, she could either attempt a final attack or wait for him to do to her what he’d done to Zevran. Death was virtually guaranteed either way. Shutting her eyes, she collected herself for a few sorry moments before rushing out of cover and charging at the mage with a spiteful roar.

She threw Fang ahead of her in hopes of breaking his stance and following it with a tackle. The blade tore into his shoulder, but he did not even flinch. Shock robbed her of her momentum and resolve. Swinging the broken remains of his staff in an upward arc, Dovatocus sent her reeling back with a wave of force magic. Tree roots constricted around her boots and lifted her high into the air for a few moments, then slammed her hard into the ground. Like a trebuchet’s rope, they dragged her back toward the camp and flung her out into the desert. Safir spun in the air, cracked her ribs against a tree, and landed with a heavy, limp thud. 

Barely able to lift her head from the sand, she curled up to begin crawling, clutching her stomach as shooting pain engulfed it. Ahead of her, motionless, was Zevran. She clawed at the ground to drag herself toward him, unsure if he was even still alive. 

“You should have stayed in the desert, _bitch_!” snarled Dovatocus, his breaths ragged and his feet unsteady as he stomped forward to close the distance. “Maybe then you might have lived! Now, you’ll both die!”

“Fuck you!” Safir grunted, still pulling herself across the sand to reach Zevran. Her breath shuddered in and out through gritted teeth.

“Ha! Even now, you’ve got some fight in you. You are no common soldier, Warden Tabris!” he spat, almost upon her. On the edge of her vision, she saw him slowly raise his staff, its broken shaft ready to lunge down like the tip of a spear. 

Safir made it to Zevran’s side at last, grabbing his shoulder and struggling to turn him over onto his back. His eyes were tightly shut, but he was breathing. “Come on, Zev,” she whispered, desperate to rouse him. “We have to leave, Zev, now!”

“I thought this would be over quickly, but it seems I was wrong,” the villain growled, hovering the splintered staff over her back. Safir buried her face in Zevran’s chest and waited for the blow. “Thankfully, as I’ve won, it seems I was not wrong about the outcome.”

The sound of a sharp point splitting flesh whipped her ears. She recoiled at the sudden noise, but her body did not complain of an injury. Opening her eyes again, she saw Dovatocus struggle to stand as blood trickled from his lips. Protruding from just below his ribs, Starfang shone slick with blood in the moonlight. Dovatocus convulsed and winced as the blade twisted inside him. Then, straining against his robes, it ripped through his side and spilled his innards onto the ground. With wide eyes and a wet, sickening gurgle, he staggered for a few steps and fell lifelessly into the dirt.

“Yes you were, you fucking sick bastard.” 

Orso stood over the body on shaky legs with blood still streaming down his face. His breaths labored and his brow twisted with the effort of standing, he let Starfang fall and noticed her still in pain on the ground. His eyes softened immediately as he dropped to his knees by her side. 

“Safir! Maker’s breath, Safir, you’re okay!” he gasped, wrapping her in his arms. 

She felt herself slipping away from him with each passing second, her eyelids getting heavier and her lungs slower. 

“No, no, no. Don’t do that,” he ordered in a panic, brushing hair from her face with a bloodstained hand. “Stay with me! Stay with me, Safir, for fuck’s sake!” 

Her vision blurred. Her hearing faded. Her body lost its strength. 

“Filas, please!” Orso shouted, clutching her tightly and twisting to find the former slaves. “Dhenan! Help her! Please, help her!”

Safir pointed a limp finger at Zevran with the last of her strength, directing the twins to tend to him before everything went dark.

Only the vague sensations of motion made it through the fog that blanketed Safir’s mind, her body limp and numb. Calling out to her from the darkness, just a little louder than the last time she’d heard it, was the song of the Old Gods spurring her on and begging her survival. Its vicious insistence filled every corner of her awareness and pushed her through the darkness until her normal senses began to take over once again. Soreness crept into her mind without form as the weight of her body asserted itself. The stirring of her heart and lungs joined next, sluggish in their recovery but present enough to dampen the song. Sharp lines of pain burned inside her wounds and gave her body shape. On a distant horizon, a hint of bright white pierced the black and quieted the song at last.

Safir awoke under a thatch ceiling, her head still throbbing with the pain of battle. While waiting for her vision to come back into focus, she stretched her aching muscles to check for injuries, feeling the weight of a heavy blanket shift above her. 

“You’re finally up,” Orso said, catching her attention. He sat to her left in a chair drawn up close to the bed, his face still swollen. He looked as though he hadn’t slept a minute since the fight.

“Where are we?” Safir asked, struggling against the pain in her chest.

“Outside Tantervale,” he told her, cupping his hands together just under his chin. “We walked here with Filas and Dhenan from the Silent Plains. I carried you most of the way.”

“Where’s Zevran?”

“With us. He woke up not long after the fight ended.”

“I want to see him,” Safir declared, her triceps screaming as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Orso palmed her shoulders, trying to get her to lay back down. Looking down, she noticed the bandages wrapped around her chest. She wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Who bandaged me?” she asked, covering up by bringing each hand to its opposite shoulder.

“I did,” Orso admitted. “I hope that’s alright. You were hurt pretty bad, and I figured since I’ve already seen everything…”

“You should have let Zevran do it,” Safir snapped, narrowing and averting her eyes.

“Why?”

“I’ve known him longer,” she said simply, turning her back to Orso. “I trust him more.”

“You don’t trust me?” Orso asked. His voice faltered as he spoke.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you might as well have.” Orso stood up from the chair and rounded corner of the bed to face her again. “You don’t seem very appreciative of the fact that I saved your life. Have I done something wrong? You look angry.”

“I _am_ angry!” she yelled back at him, ignoring the pain in her joints and throwing the blanket off herself. “You shouldn’t have come after me like that. It was stupid.”

“If I hadn’t gone after you, you’d be dead!”

“And what if you’d been _caught_ , hm? Then _you_ would be dead, and I can’t have that shit on my conscience.”

“My life is mine to risk for those I care about, Safir.”

“Then you’re an idiot who’s going to get himself killed.”

“If it saves you, then it’s worth it.”

“No! Fuck that!” she shouted, her finger trained on his throat as she backed him toward the open doorway. “Don’t you dare say that again.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I mean it enough.”

“That’s the problem! If you mean it, you’ll act on it. You’ll die for me. And that is bullshit. So don’t you fucking dare say that again, because I…”

“What?”

Pressing her fist hard into the door’s frame, she grit her teeth and stared at the floor. Defeated, she finally asked, “Fuck, man, are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Why don’t you want me to mean what I said, Safir?”

“Because I love you, you fucking asshole!” Not sparing another second to watch the impact of her words take shape on Orso’s bewildered face, Safir slammed the door shut and returned to bed, wincing as she drew the blanket over herself and pain found its way back into her nerves.


	26. New Dong's New Nose

Safir rolled her shoulders after pulling herself into a sitting position and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Much of the pain was already gone. Tugging on the hem of her shirt, she saw that the bruises on her ribs had subsided almost completely. Maker, how many days had it been?

Wincing, she stood and faced the wooden door. She hadn’t seen it open since kicking Orso out of the room. It creaked at her nudging, and behind it she saw a narrow flight of wooden stairs that led down into the first floor of whatever building she was in. The planks felt cold and rough on her bare feet as she descended and found Zevran and Orso making quiet conversation at opposite ends of a small round table. The twins were sat together on a bench near the front door paying attention only to each other.

“Safir!” called Zevran upon noticing her. “You are out of bed at last! How do you feel?”

“Alright,” she said, stopping a few paces short of the table and leaning on a wall for support. “Shockingly alright, actually. How long have we been here?”

“Three days.” Orso twisted in his chair and shot her a halfhearted smile after answering. His face was still partly swollen. “You can thank Zevran for your quick healing. He called in a favor and had a mage take a look at you yesterday.”

“A mage?”

“An apostate,” said Zevran. “Not technically a healer, but gifted with all of the same skills as one. Don’t worry. She can be trusted.”

“Thanks, then, I guess.” Safir shifted her weight uncomfortably throughout the pause between words. “What happened after the fight? Do we still have everything we need?”

“Everything except the Old God blood and whatever Morrigan is bringing. Your gear is in the room upstairs,” said Orso. “None of us were in very good shape that night, but Filas and Dhenan were helpful. They saw to it that we didn’t leave anything behind. They’re free now that Dovatocus is gone. Haven’t said much, though.”

Safir glanced their way. Even at the mention of their names, the twins were still and silent. She drew up to them slowly and took a deep breath. 

“How are you guys doing?” she asked.

They consulted each other with a look before one of them turned his head up to answer. “Better than before,” was all he said. His speech was stiff, as though he lacked confidence in the language.

“I want to say thank you,” said Safir, bowing a little. “For disobeying Dovatocus, I mean. I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t. I owe you both.”

The same brother who answered her earlier spoke again. “We thank you as well, for trying to stop him.”

“Right… I’m sorry I couldn’t finish the job. Are you Filas or Dhenan?”

“Filas,” he said. “My brother does not speak.”

“Why not?”

“No tongue. Dovatocus took it away.”

“Fuck, that’s awful.” Averting her eyes, Safir spotted her backpack sitting in the corner of the room nearest to the door and thought of her cure. “Listen,” she continued, addressing the twins again. “I really appreciate your help, both of you. But I can’t waste time, and now that I’m mobile again I have to get back to work. I can’t imagine you want to keep following me around just because you saved my life once.”

The brothers looked at one another pensively. Without moving, Filas answered again. “The Dalish,” he said. “We would go back to them.”

“That’s right! You were taken in Antiva, weren’t you?” Filas nodded. Safir drummed her fingers on her thigh for a moment and squinted at her backpack. “Give me a minute.”

Crossing the room to search through her belongings, she pulled out a leaf of parchment, a quill, and the Warden badge she’d taken from Dovatocus in his prison. She hastily scribbled a note on the paper to give to the twins along with the badge:

_These brothers are called Filas and Dhenan. They’re the former slaves of a maleficar and helped save my life when he tried to kill me. Treat them well, and quarter them for as long as they need you to. That’s an order._

_Warden-Commander Tabris._

After folding the note up, she tied it to the badge with a length of twine and handed it to Filas.

“Take this with you and follow the river east to Starkhaven,” she said. “The Wardens there will recognize my handwriting. They’ll keep you safe and keep you fed. You can get healthy there and look for your clan whenever you’re ready.” Safir paused and sighed, her face falling. “I wish there was more I could do for you. Help yourselves to my and Orso’s cloaks. Cover your ears until you reach the Wardens.”

“Thank you,” said Filas. For the first time since she’d started the conversation, Dhenan addressed her with a firm bow of his head.

Safir turned to face the men at the table and watched them as she made her way to the stairs. “I’m going up to get dressed. We can head out once I come back down,” she told them. As she rounded the landing and took the first step up, she leaned over the banister and caught their attention again. “Orso… Can you come and talk for a minute?”

He rose without a word and followed her into the room, where they took a shared seat on the side of the mattress. Safir stared at her feet in silence, unsure how to begin. After several moments, he did it for her.

“Is this the part where you tell me to ignore what you said before? That you didn’t mean it, and it was just the pain talking?” His voice broke as though he expected an answer in the affirmative.

“No,” Safir sighed. “I meant it.”

“Interesting. Unexpected.”

“Orso, I’m sorry I was such an asshole. It’s just… I’ve fought an army of darkspawn, and love is still the scariest thing in the world to me. It means a lot that you risked your life to save me, and obviously I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.” Shutting her eyes, Safir wrapped her hand tightly over his. “But, please, don’t _ever_ do that again.”

“I can’t promise you that, Safir. But I hope I won’t have to.” Orso bumped her at the shoulder with a chuckle. “Just don’t go pissing off any more blood mages, and I think we’ll be alright.”

“But it’s so much fun!” Safir laughed. Her shallow breath quickly fell from amusement to sadness. She wiped the pooling tears away from her eyes.

“Hey… Hey, what’s the matter?” asked Orso. 

Safir threw her arms around his shoulders and squeezed. He returned the hug with the light touch of a concerned acquaintance. The first of her tears landed on his skin when his palm ran up and down her back. Drawing away, Safir kissed him and stood from the bed.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy you’re alive.” Safir crossed to the door and rested her hand on its knob. “We’ve got work to do,” she said. “Those ghasts aren’t going to get rid of themselves.”

***

Six days out from Kirkwall with the Old God blood in hand, Safir, Zevran, and Orso hiked through the north of Ferelden and were well on their way to Denerim. Their visit to the temple had been a quick one, with a shockingly simple plan that went off without a hitch. With Zev for back up, Safir entered the tunnel and waited for the horde to chase her off, leaving the way clear for Orso to swipe the blood. Now all that remained was to go home and make use of it. With tired feet and growling stomachs, they made camp beside a fast-flowing stream on the western fringes of the Storm Coast.

“I must say,” called Zevran as he drove a stake into the ground to secure his tent, “I have missed Ferelden dearly.”

“Have you not been back all this time?” Safir asked.

“Very few times, and only to the big cities. Camping in this Maker-forsaken hinterland once again brings me many fond memories.”

“Fond memories of the Blight? I find that hard to believe.”

Zev stood and dusted his hands after finishing up his tent. “How can I not think warmly of the Blight when it is the reason you and I met to begin with?”

“I don’t know, Zev,” she said, a joke in her voice. “When you put it that way, it makes the Blight sound even worse.”

“Your tongue is like a whip, my friend!” Zevran shouted, cupping his palms over his heart to feign at hurt feelings. A moment later, his eyes shot past her and flit instead to the stream. “I think it may be wise to check on the object of your denial, however.”

“Don’t you mean the object of my desires?”

“Ha! I am sure that when you are bored of him, you will come to realize that you and I are meant to be together, Safir,” he mocked. “But if you’ll permit me to be more serious, I really do think you should check on him. He has done nothing but stare at his reflection in the stream since he finished pitching his tent.”

Safir turned around and saw Orso standing at the edge of the water with his head bowed low and faced Zevran again, nodding. “Thanks for the tip.”

Rising from where she sat on the gravel beach, Safir sauntered off in Orso’s direction and rested her hand on his shoulder when she reached him.

“Everything alright?” she asked, meeting his eyes in the reflection at her feet.

Orso grunted and sighed as he rubbed his fingers over his face. “The fuckers broke my nose. My perfect, straight nose.”

“So that’s what you’ve been moping about all this time?” said Safir, turning him around so that they were facing one another. She did her best to comfort him by running her fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, I sort of like it this way. Makes you more interesting. Gives you a story.”

“It gives me a story?” he repeated, an incredulous flash in his eyes.

“Mhm,” she nodded with a smile. “And if I didn’t already know it, I would be very eager to find out what it was.”

Orso raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Well, if that’s the way you really feel, perhaps I should take you to my tent and tell it anyway.”

“There he is,” said Safir, slapping him lightly on his cheek. “Not tonight. I’m tired and I want an early start tomorrow.”

“We’re still a week out from Denerim, aren’t we?”

“A week and a half, more like. But I’m not known for my patience. Come on, stop brooding out here and let’s just get some sleep.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Despite having her own tent set up, Safir shared Orso’s for the night. She nodded off on his shoulder and woke the next morning as his shifting weight stirred her from her dreams. She blinked into the dawn and saw him reaching for the flaps of the tent. 

“Leaving so soon?” she asked.

“You’re the one who wanted an early start.” Orso paused to stretch his arms while waiting for her response.

“Maybe. But there’s time enough for a little pillow talk at least, don’t you think?” Safir tugged at the hem of Orso’s trousers to get him to lay back down. “Besides, your hair looks really nice in this light.”

“It’s not too messy for you?”

“I never said I didn’t like it messy, you know. Now get over here.”

“Maker, where was all this energy last night?” Orso wondered, leaning over her instead of laying next to her. “Not that it’s unwelcome…”

With their morning activities concluded, neither Safir nor Orso had much interest in laying exhausted in each other’s arms; she wanted back on the road, and he wanted to fill his belly. Safir left the tent after throwing on some clothes a minute or two after he’d started on their breakfast. Sitting smugly on a log just a few feet away, Zevran regarded her in a knowing glance while working through a handful of sunflower seeds.

“Good morning,” he said, declaring it more than asking it.

Straightening her posture, Safir tidied up her clothing and approached the campfire, ignoring his wide grin. She spied Orso wading into the shallow stream with the legs of his trousers rolled up and a fishing net in hand. The pale sun gleamed on his back while she watched its wide muscles flex and felt inspired by the view. Rather than wait at the fire, she sped over to her tent and pulled parchment and sticks from her rucksack, which she’d left inside overnight. Then she sat in front of the flattest rock she could find and got started on a new drawing. Orso was satisfied with his catch not long after and approached her at the campsite before she could finish.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the paper with his chin.

“Oh, er… Well, see for yourself.”

Orso rubbed his eyes and then wrinkled his nose at the incomplete drawing. “That supposed to be me, is it?”

“It _is_ you, ass,” Safir corrected, pointing a charcoal stained finger at the mess of hair that sat atop the sketch’s head. “Doesn’t the hair make it obvious? What about the fucked up nose?”

“Hey, you said you liked my nose this way!”

“And I do, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t fucked up.”

“You have strange charms, woman,” he muttered, sitting next to her and wrapping one arm around her waist. “How did you learn to do this?”

Safir shrugged. “There wasn’t a lot to distract myself with when I was growing up in the alienage. Drawing was fun, so I did it a lot. And now I’m good at it.” Safir paused and sighed through her nose with pursed lips as she studied the drawing. “I used to be better. Went a long time without practicing.”

“Well, I happen to think this drawing is fantastic. Few artists in Thedas could hope to capture my roguish charm.”

“That’s because it doesn’t exist, Orso.”

“Oh, how you wound me!” he laughed, his bellowing voice resonating warmly in her chest. “You are from Denerim, though, are you not?”

“Yes… Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about Denerim. It’s supposed to be a busy city, as hectic as it is disorganized. I’m struggling to imagine you being so bored that you accidentally became a talented artist.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s how it happened.”

“Really?” he wondered. “No well-intentioned advice from your parents telling you to shape up and get a real job?”

“No, they were pretty accommodating. I didn’t start to get really good at it until after my mother was killed, though.”

Orso frowned at the mention of her mother, looking unsure of what to say.

“It happened a really long time ago. I’m alright.” Safir waved away his trepidation and patted him on the knee. “It was just me and Pa after that. He knew drawing made me happy, so he brought home as much charcoal and spare parchment as he could get his hands on. Speaking of which, hurry up with breakfast so we can get going.”

“Why are you so impatient?” asked Orso, though he didn’t waste any time getting the fish ready.

“We’re days away from getting home and finally putting together the cure. Of course I’m impatient. Besides, Dovatocus almost killed me, and I want to make sure I get this done before anyone else tries to finish the job.”

“Is that likely within the span of a week?”

Safir nodded. “I’m great at making enemies.”

“Well, then I suppose we’d better get you home before you make another,” he said. Pulling out a knife, he began descaling the fish while keeping an eye on the fire. “Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes. Ask Zevran to help you pack everything up.”

A short while and a quick meal later, the three of them were back on the long road to Denerim. In ten mercifully uneventful days they found themselves walking under the open portcullis at the city’s gate and stepping onto the muddy ground of the elven alienage.

“Ah, how I have missed this stench,” said Zevran, breathing deeply through his nose. “It reminds one of despair and deprivation, does it not?”

“Why is that a good thing?” Orso wondered.

Rolling her eyes, Safir ignored the rest of their exchange as she led the way to her father’s house and glanced around in confusion at the strange looks the other elves were giving her. Maybe Cyrion told a few of them about her quest and they’d assumed she would never come back home. Maybe they just didn’t like the look of the bearded Vint who was following her around. Whatever their reasons, determination got the better of curiosity and Safir kept her head down the rest of the way to the house. When she finally drew up to the front stairs, she let out a nervous sigh and turned around to face her companions.

“Well,” she said. “We’re here.”

Orso shifted uncomfortably and rubbed his neck.

“Something wrong?”

“I’m not sure I should be here,” he said. “I certainly don’t feel very welcomed. Will your father care? About us, I mean?”

“Don’t worry about it. My pa is the nicest man you’ll ever meet. As for the rest of the elves… Just try to keep to yourself. They won’t start a fight unless provoked.”

“How long do we plan on waiting outside?” asked Zev, his words punctuated by the tapping of his foot. “The view is nice and all, but I am getting rather tired of it.”

“Good point,” Safir agreed. “Let’s go.”

She climbed the steps and, without knocking, nudged the door open and stepped inside the empty living area. 

“Pa! I’m home! For good, this time!”

In another second, she heard eager footsteps spring to life in his bedroom, but it was Shianni who entered the hall and met her with wide eyes and a sharp gasp.

“Cousin!” she shouted, crossing the room and wrapping Safir in a hug. A fiery braid hung at her shoulder. “You came home? It’s been so long!”

“You’re telling me!” answered Safir. “Your hair is so long now!”

She felt Shianni tense the moment she heard the plant of Orso’s boots behind her.

“I see you’ve brought home another shem, cousin. What is it with you and shems?”

Safir stepped out of the hug and looked back at Orso, who offered Shianni an awkward wave. Then, turning back toward Shianni, she simply shrugged. “You know how humans tend to be taller and stockier than elves?”

“Yes…”

“Well, the same principle applies to their—”

“Dear Maker, please don’t finish that sentence, cousin,” Shianni groaned, palming her forehead and blushing. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too, Shianni. Anyway, this is Orso. I met him in Tevinter and he followed me here like a stray dog. Looks like one, too.” Safir peeked over Orso’s shoulder and beckoned Zevran to enter. “And I think you remember Zev.”

“A pleasure,” Zevran bowed.

“So, where’s Pa? Is he out shopping or something?”

Shianni went pale and started wringing her wrists. She looked at Safir with worry in her eyes. “He… he’s…”

“What is it?” Safir snapped, grabbing her cousin’s shoudlers. “Is he hurt? Is he in trouble?”

“Oh, cousin…”

Safir’s heart dropped into her stomach as she slowly shook her head. “Shianni,” she said through gritted teeth. “What happened?”

“Safir, I’m so sorry.”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” Safir’s breaths were shallow, her words barely above a whisper. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.”

“It was last month,” said Shianni, wiping tears away from her eyes. “It’s why left Highever.”

“What happened?!”

“There was a disease. It swept through the alienage and he got sick.”

Safir blinked her watering eyes as her lips trembled.

“The damn shems have been so paranoid since the mages started rebelling, they wouldn’t let anyone out of the alienage for medicine,” continued Shianni. “Uncle Cyrion wasn’t the only one who didn’t make it. I am so, _so_ sorry, cousin.”

“I should have been here,” Safir muttered, angrily clenching her jaw and willing the tears away.

“Wh... what?”

“I should have _been_ here!” she cried. “I could have saved him!”

“Don’t say that, Safir. This is not your fault,” Shianni said. “This happened because of the shems.” 

“I could have done something about them, if only I hadn’t broken that damn vial and wasted my time looking for a fucking sword. He’d still be alive if only I hadn’t messed up.”

“You had no way of knowing, cousin. Don’t blame yourself.”

Safir stared at the ground in resignation. At length, she sighed, “I know. I don’t have to like it, but you’re right. I can’t spend another decade feeling guilty.” Having collected herself, she looked back at her cousin. “Were you here when it happened?”

Shianni nodded. “He sent for me when he got sick, but I couldn’t afford the medicine, and those pigs locked me in here as soon as I arrived.”

“What did you do with him after he passed?”

“I arranged to have him buried,” she answered, her brows knit in anger. “It isn’t right. The humans wouldn’t give us wood for a pyre. They called us a ‘security risk’, those bastards.”

“I want to see him.”

“Of course. He’s out with the others by the old orphanage.” Shianni rubbed her eyes free of tears and held Safir’s hand. “Do you… want us to come with you?”

Turning around, Safir watched Orso and Zevran shuffle their feet in solemn silence. Neither of them seemed to know what to say.

“Thank you, Shianni, but I should be by myself for now.”

“I understand, cousin. And… I’m sorry.”

Stepping outside after sharing glances with the men, Safir walked through the alienage on weak legs. The pointed expressions worn by the other elves now made perfect sense. Though she knew many of the faces in the crowd, all of them had the sense to give her a wide berth as she made her way to the orphanage and finally came to a stop at a collection of five graves marked by the misshapen rocks that served as their tombstones. The second one from the left bore her father’s name. She fell to her knees and pressed her open palm into the dirt that lay before it, watching as the earth soaked up her tears. 

“I’ll miss you, Pa.”

When her eyes ran dry, she dug her fingers into the mound and opened a small hole about a foot deep and only a few inches wide. She drew Fang out of its sheath and gave it a final, mournful hug before setting it down in the hole and covering it back up.

“Now you can be together,” Safir whispered. “Just like before.”

Her eyes shut, she stood from the grave and let out a long, shaky breath. Pulling at the twine that hung around her neck, she withdrew the sending crystal and held it tightly in her palm.

“Morrigan? You there?”

After a pause, the stone drummed in response. _I am, sister. Is there something you require?_

Safir steeled herself and looked slowly up from the ground. “How soon can you be in Denerim?”


	27. An Unenthusiastic Woman Drank a Potion That Was Truly Quite Foul...

Safir lay quietly on her father’s bed, curled up over the sheets. Her tears had stopped flowing, but the pillow they’d stained was still wet beneath her eye. Alienage noise filtered in through the thin walls that surrounded her. A few words managed every now and then to pierce the fog of rain and cooing birds, and when they did, it was Cyrion whose voice she heard. It came to her in the tedium and drudgery of alienage life, as lists of errands and stray little thoughts.

_Halibut… sheep’s cheese… tomatoes…._

_Don’t let him see you with your hair all mussed!_

_It’ll make a fine gift, I’m sure._

These fleeting illusions were small comfort. None contained the two words she most desperately longed to hear, which she knew she never would again. There she lay, the Little Owl that had left the nest and returned to find it empty but for a devastating silence.

Creaking floorboards sounded behind her back, joined by a few light knocks on a wooden door. “How are you?” a man asked. It was Orso’s voice.

“Pissed off.”

“At what?” he wondered, joking. “Pillows too hot? Mattress too soft?”

“I’m not in the mood to laugh, Orso.”

“No, I didn’t expect you would be, but I had to try. Move over,” he said, pushing her legs aside and sitting to her right on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You know what I’m thinking,” she answered.

“I know what you’re probably thinking about, but that’s not the same thing. Why are you pissed off, when you should be sad?”

Safir pulled herself into a sitting position and swung her legs around so that they were parallel with his. She drummed her fingers on the mattress. 

“I broke a promise.”

“Which one?”

“One I made to my father. I told him that I’d come back to him, and I didn’t. So, I’m pissed off. Is that explanation enough for you?”

“You’re not being fair to yourself, Safir.”

Head bowed, she sighed.

“I know it’s not my fault. But it still wouldn’t have happened if I’d been here. I could have saved him if only that vial hadn’t broken.”

“Right,” Orso nodded. “Or if only the bridge hadn’t snapped.”

“What?”

“Or if only the Wardens hadn’t hidden the cure so fucking far away. Or if only you hadn’t waited so long to find it. Or if only the Blights had never started and the Wardens hadn’t formed to begin with. You can trace it as far back as you like, Safir, but it won’t make a difference. All you can do is remember him.”

“I know,” Safir snapped. “That’s exactly why this is so hard to live with. It’s so much easier when you have something to blame. Even easier when that something is me.”

“I understand. But you’ll be alright, won’t you?” he asked. 

"Yeah. It happened with my mother, and I got through it. I’ll get through this.” Safir bit her cheek in thought. “And maybe someday I’ll work through the shit in my head, too, but I can't even start to think about that until after I've taken the cure."

"What do you mean? You seemed high enough in spirits before we got here. Hell, when we got together I'd have even ventured to say that you were happy."

"What, really? You think just because I let you fuck me that I’m better?”

A pause. Orso shifted his weight momentarily as her question sunk in, and she prayed that he would see through the lie in it.

“No,” he finally said. “I think because you’re better that you’re better.”

“Oh for fuck’s… Why does everyone keep assuming I’m okay? What is it about me that says, ‘Hi! I’m a well-adjusted individual who’s not at all afraid of emotional attachment?’”

“I know it can’t be easy to get out from under your pain, Safir. Believe me, I know.” Orso put his hand on her knee in an effort to reassure. “But you really don’t seem as damaged as you think you are. Maybe you are okay, and you’re just unwilling to admit it to yourself.”

“No, I told you this, Orso. Way before anything happened between us. I told you I'm fucked up, and that hasn’t changed. If that’s the image of myself that I’m projecting, then I assure you, it is not intentional.”

“I just don’t believe that’s true.”

Safir’s eyes flashed in his direction half-lidded and resentful. “Yeah, well, your opinion on that hardly matters, does it?”

“You’re being awfully taciturn, you know.”

“That a problem?”

“No, but it’s not like you. You’re acting like a Warden.”

“I _am_ one, aren’t I?” she asked.

“Not really, since you quit. And you aren’t normally this gloomy.”

“And here I thought Wardens were known for their chipper smiles and sunny dispositions!”

“Safir, I’m trying to be serious,” said Orso. “What’s going on? Why do you insist on feeling guilty?”

Another pause. Safir’s thoughts fell on the albatross hung round her neck, her sole companion of nine years. She shut her eyes and plucked up the courage to tell him its name.

“Do you have any idea how many people in this world are dead because of me, or because of what I’ve done? The amount of people I’ve hurt, or that I’ve allowed to be hurt? How many times I’ve killed someone myself?”

Orso silently shook his head.

“You’d have run for the hills by now if you did. But here’s the thing: I sleep easily despite it all. I’ve done a lot of bad shit to a lot of people, but every one of those fuckers deserved what they got. Except for one. Care to guess who?”

Orso waited a moment. “Alistair.”

“I might have killed a hundred people during the Blight, and I would happily kill them all a hundred times over if it meant I could take him back. There’s a mountain of bodies at my feet and his is the only one I regret putting there. The only one.”

“I’m sorry. Will you tell me what happened?”

“Fuck,” she said, breathless. “I knew you’d ask me that.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“No, I… I think I do. You should know.” Safir stared between her feet at the muddy floor. “Do you know how an archdemon dies?”

“By getting killed, I presume.”

“A Warden has to do it. Otherwise, its soul will just jump into the nearest darkspawn and it’ll be reborn there. But we’re tainted, too. If one of us does it, it’ll try to jump into us instead. Unlike the darkspawn, we aren’t empty, and there’s no room for two souls in one body, so they die. They both die.

“Alistair and I were in love,” she said. By now, every word shuddered to life. “We were stupidly, deliriously in love. I didn’t know about the archdemon thing until right before that final battle. Morrigan knew all along. She had a way out. She wanted to take the archdemon’s soul for herself, but she had to be pregnant with a Warden’s baby to get it. It had to be Alistair. She threatened to leave me if I denied her. 

“She was my sister, and I just let her go. 

“We had another Warden with us who’d offered to make the killing blow, so I just thought that if he couldn’t do it, I would. But when the time came, it was just me and Alistair and… he didn’t let me. So he died. He died because of me, and I never even told him that he could have lived. I loved him, and I _killed_ him. I can’t escape that. I can’t run away from it, I can’t ignore it, I can’t forgive myself for it. It’s always there. Always.

“So for some of us, there’s no such thing as ‘better’. There’s only ‘next’. ‘Next’ is all I’ve had to my name for years, and I am so… _fucking_ tired of it. I hate ‘next’.

“Did you ever wonder why it is that I’m doing all this shit to begin with? Now you know. It’s because I’m the biggest piece of shit the world has ever seen and all I want is the chance not to be.”

Exhausted, Safir rested in the quiet that hung between them. She turned her head, too ashamed to look at him. It was a while before he finally spoke.

“You’re wrong. You’re not a piece of shit, Safir.”

Safir risked a glance in his eyes and found them resolute.

“You’re not a piece of shit.”

“Yes I _am_ ,” she argued.

“No,” he said. “You’re not.”

Safir tensed and hesitated. “What are you doing?”

“Telling you the truth. You are not a bad person.”

“Stop it.”

“You are not a bad person, Safir.”

“Stop.”

Orso gently placed a hand on her arm. “You made a mistake.”

Safir’s eyes winced shut, her lips trembling, she could barely speak. “ _Stop_.”

“It was a more severe one than most people ever have to endure.”

“Please just stop.”

“But it was a mistake anyone could have made.”

“Stop trying to fix me, Orso!” she shouted suddenly, but he remained firm.

“No, I want you to understand this.”

“But I don’t! Have you considered that?” she asked, hoping for mercy. “I don’t. So why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“Well, because I fucking love you!” he cried in frustration. “Isn’t it obvious? And I can't bear the thought of you hurting like this.”

Wary but intrigued, Safir prodded for elaboration. “You’ve never said that to me before. Not even when I said it to you.”

“That didn’t seem like the best time. Besides, I wasn’t sure of it then. I was close, I think, but not quite there.”

Safir’s eyes narrowed. “When did you start being sure?”

“It was just now, actually.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, it was!”

“Really? That pathetic display made you love me?”

“Mhm! It was just then, as you were repeatedly calling yourself a piece of shit.” The joke failed to land, and Safir instantly soured. Noticing this, Orso held her hand in his. “No, I mean it. As you went on I just kept thinking to myself, you must be the single dumbest person in all of Thedas if that’s what you truly think of yourself. You really don’t see what I see, do you?”

“And what exactly do you see, Orso?”

Orso studied her excitedly, his eyes roaming frantically between hers.

“You are a formidable woman. You’re reckless, and stubborn, and frankly terrifying. But you’re impressive, confident, and irrepressibly brave. And despite what you may think, you have a good heart, Safir. I’ve seen it time and again.” For good measure, Orso stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re also quite beautiful, and to top it all off, you’re a hell of a lay.”

Safir couldn’t help but giggle despite her sniffling. “You had no right to be such a charmer.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, that last bit was by far the most important.”

“It’s too late for takebacks, you ass,” she chuckled, wiping away tears as she fell into a tired sort of relief. “Anyway, I… I appreciate it. You trying to help me. And I love you, too, Orso, but you’re not enough. I need to find some way to make peace with all this. That’s going to take a long time, if it ever happens at all. I need the cure.”

Orso nodded in reluctant understanding as she leaned into him and he wrapped one arm around her. “Then I guess we just wait,” he said.

“She should be here soon,” Safir sighed. “Probably making some dramatic entrance again.”

Orso tightened the pressure of his arm around her waist. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” she said. “She’s actually really friendly once you get to know her.”

"Really?"

"No. She's a bitch. But I love her."

“What kind of entrance should I be expecting?” Orso wondered. “The ‘ _don’t worry, we’re just here to have us a little chat, but you’d be well-advised to hide any valuables from view_ ’ sort of entrance, or the ‘ _we’ve just kicked down your door and unless you have our employer’s money, it’ll be your ribs next_ ’ sort of entrance?”

“That’s not really her style. The last time I saw her do it, she flew in as a raven through a hole in the ceiling while I wasn’t looking,” Safir explained. “She’s more about surprising you than scaring you. I’m guessing she’s just going to show up unannounced when we least expec—”

Three loud knocks on the front door stopped Safir in her tracks, followed by a hissed whisper.

“Sister, it is I!”

Safir rolled her eyes and met his. Her mouth hung open with a sigh. “I honestly don’t know how she does it. I really don’t.”

“I take it that’s her,” Orso started, pointing towards the door and leaning out of the bed. “I suppose I’ll go let her in.”

Safir followed Orso as far as the bedroom door, where she leaned against the frame to await Morrigan. Shianni left Safir’s old room and was halfway to the door when Orso turned the knob and swung it open to reveal a slender woman in a dark, rain-soaked poncho. Morrigan’s eyes swept the room like rapiers. She strode into the house the moment she spotted Safir, ignoring everything and everyone else. Morrigan wrapped wet hands around Safir’s shoulders and offered only a sympathetic glance before enclosing her in a hug. Safir shifted uncomfortably as the spongy wool of Morrigan’s cloak scratched her cheeks, and in another moment the witch released her.

“All is ready, yes?” she demanded.

“As it’ll ever be,” answered Safir. “It’s all in my room.”

Prompted by a clear of Orso’s throat, Morrigan spun on her heel to face him. She watched him approach with goading eyes. “ _Yes_?”

“My name is Orso,” he said, extending a hand to shake Morrigan’s.

“I find myself with my question unanswered,” she shrugged. “Why do you speak to me?”

“Well, I suppose introductions should be in order,” Orso muttered.

“Now, just what might have convinced you of a silly thing like that?” Morrigan bit. Without pausing a second, she turned and addressed Safir once more. “I will begin preparing,” she nodded. Safir’s nose curled as her sister entered the bedroom.

Orso closed the distance with bewildered eyes dancing back and forth between Safir and the doorway.

“You did tell her about me, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. Don’t worry about her,” Safir assured him. “She just hasn’t realized it’s possible to be friends with more than one person yet.”

Safir followed Morrigan inside and grimaced as the musky scent hit her stronger than before. 

“Hey, Morrigan?”

“Yes, sister?” Morrigan asked, annoyed but no less quick about emptying her bag of supplies on Safir’s mattress.

“Do you mind taking off that coat? You smell. You smell bad. Like shit, really.”

Morrigan finally paused in her unloading and bowed her head on hunched shoulders. “Do not remind me,” she threatened. “This would not have happened had your old protege not slaughtered half a city!”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Safir rushed. “He had the sense to fuck off from the Wardens long before I did.”

“Do not be so quick to your own defense,” said Morrigan with an assuring wave. “Far be it from me to question the sense of a man who destroys a city’s chantry. But I cannot even begin to tell you how inconvenient my travels have been thanks to his pitiably brutish actions.”

“What’s your point?”

“Templars, sister! And watchmen!” she shouted. “Their guard has increased threefold since I was here last. I became a cat to sneak past a checkpoint on my way here, but was then chased by some horrible, mangy street dog into a filthy alley. To escape, I had to become a rat— _a rat!_ —and enter the sewer through a festering hole in the wall! The air you breathe in this slum is rosy and fresh in comparison to what I had to trudge through, so you’ll have to forgive me if I no longer smell of embers and pine.”

Morrigan let out a defeated huff and hovered silently over the tools and ingredients she’d spread across the mattress. A delicate peace fell over the room.

“Why didn’t you just fly here?” Safir demanded abruptly.

“Are you stupid, or merely deaf? There is naught but rain for miles all around, and ‘tis _exhausting_ to fly with wet wings!”

Satisfied by the outburst, Safir decided she’d try to calm her sister down.

“Hey, it could be worse, you know,” she teased. “Remember the Deep Roads?”

Morrigan scoffed as though the memory had insulted her. “Unfortunately. ‘Twas a _week_ before we were rid of that stench.”

When her frustration subsided, Morrigan set to work on the cure. 

Safir’s uselessness eclipsed her curiosity; she lost her tongue and soon left the room in search of a distraction. It came in the form of sharing a loaf of bread with Shianni in the kitchen for the better part of an hour, listening to Orso’s snoring through the wall. The front door then swung open and Zevran stepped through its frame with a hefty sack of groceries in his arms.

“I apologize for my lateness,” he said, “but you would not believe how difficult it is to find a decent bottle of wine in this city!”

“No one asked you to buy any wine,” Shianni accused him. “You didn’t even bring any!”

“I didn’t say the wine was for _you_ , did I?” countered Zevran. “It took me ages, but I did finally manage to find a delicious Antivan red, albeit one with—” 

The Crow caught himself mid sentence as his eyes fell excitedly on Morrigan, whose footsteps landed just behind where Safir was sitting. Shianni spun out of her seat to rescue the groceries as Zevran’s grip grew unsteady. 

“Morrigan!” he cheered with open arms. “What a delectable honor it is to see you again! Your beauty is just as captivating as I remember it. Ah, what am I saying? You are even _more_ stunning!”

Morrigan faltered, blushing very slightly. “ _Zevran_ ,” was all she said, nodding once as punctuation. Catching her eye, Zev shot Safir a wink.

“So, did you come out of the room just to say hi?” she asked, changing the subject.

“No, sister, I did not,” Morrigan said. She shook her head gravely and paused. “‘Tis finished. All that remains is for you to drink.”

Silence choked the room as Safir’s lungs froze and her nerves overcame her. Finished. Nothing left to find, no one left to kill, and not a thing left to do. Even the Blight had been lighter on her shoulders than that. Safir felt all the eyes in the room follow her to the bedroom, where she sat upon the bed among an assortment of reagents and apothecary’s tools and stared across the room at the brazen goblet that stood atop her father’s nightstand. Shaky breaths fell through her lips as she pondered the future it might win her, the death it might demand of her.

Morrigan stepped into the room after her and glanced thoughtfully between Safir and the cure. 

“Why do you hesitate?” she asked, arms crossed.

Safir looked up at Morrigan with uncertain eyes. “What if this doesn’t work?”

Morrigan’s face softened a touch. She sat down beside Safir and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Then it will have been a worthy effort, nonetheless.”

“Yeah, I’ll be the worthiest corpse that’s ever died,” said Safir, surprised that the comment earned her a chuckle.

“Tell your jokes if it please you,” Morrigan said, “but the taint will not wait for you to make up your mind. ‘Tis about time you ended your quest, is it not?”

Safir fixated on the cure a while before answering in a weak voice. “I’m scared,” she said.

“I understand, but there is no need to be frightened.” Morrigan continued with a sort of reassuring bravado. “My measurements were careful, exact. This _will_ work. Have faith, and you shall see.”

Still taking the encouragement into consideration, Safir’s thoughts were cut short by a sudden burst of snoring from Orso. She stared through the wall at where he lay.

“Would you like me to bring him here?” Morrigan asked softly.

“No, let him sleep,” said Safir, still focused on the other room. “We’ve said what we have to say to each other, and if this goes sideways… He shouldn’t have to see it.”

“Very well. May I assume that you will now cease this pointless trepidation?”

“If that’s your way of asking if I’ll shut up and take the cure, then yeah. I think it’s time.” Safir rose slowly from the bed and approached the chalice that stood against her. “Zev and Shianni are still awake. Do you mind getting them?”

“I do not have to,” said Morrigan. “They have been listening at the door.”

“What else could I expect, from those two?” Safir laughed. She raised her voice to address the eavesdroppers. “This thing’s happening, so if you were hoping to squeeze in some depressing last words, now is the time.”

Zevran shuffled into the room in mock embarrassment. Behind him, Shianni did her best to appear unconcerned.

“You know I love you, Cousin,” she said. “Seems sort of pointless to go on about it.”

“I would agree,” agreed Zev. “You and I have been in enough mortal peril together by now that to express my desire for your safety feels redundant. Not to mention unrealistic, considering how frequently you encounter violence.”

“I’m surrounded by romantics,” Safir sighed. She gripped the sides of the goblet and took a moment too long to center herself. “Bit awkward, you know. I didn’t expect to have an audience for this.”

“Really?” Zev asked in a whisper cut short by a jab of Shianni’s elbow.

The room was quiet then, allowing Safir to fix her attention on the goblet once again. With both hands clasped firmly around it, she bowed her head and shut her eyes, listening for the voice in her blood one last time. The song came to her quickly, insistent and eager. It sang to her in a seductive lilt, enticing her as if it could sense her intention and was desperate to change her course. It begged loyalty with every note, more tempting now than it had ever been before, but it asked for pity that was not there. Safir opened her eyes slowly and denied the song at last. The bronze warmed at the touch of her lips as she did her best to ignore the iron and bile that slithered down her throat. She set it down after a handful of swigs and waited. The cure dropped heavily into her stomach, which grew uncomfortably hot soon after. Faintly, she could feel it spreading, rising up into her lungs warmer with each beat of her heart. Before long it was searing. Safir grimaced and caught herself on the edges of the dresser when the sensation reached her thighs and weakened her knees. Then the song was back. Agitated and anxious, it was deafening. Its fearful crescendo raced to match the heat, and neither seemed to be slowing down. When she opened her eyes she was on the floor with hollow bones and a throbbing head, staring into the spilled chalice while its crimson stained the silver of her hair. Amid the dizzying fog, she felt Morrigan rushing to attend.

“I am sorry, sister,” the witch said, her voice muffled and indistinct. “I should have known you would faint. How do you feel?”

Safir tried to answer but only managed to mutter a few words which even she could not understand.

“What’s going on? What did you do to her?” she heard Shianni ask. Morrigan supplied a quick defense before returning her attention to Safir.

“Sister? Sister, can you hear me?”

Safir nodded. The pain swelled.

Heavy bootsteps thundered into the room, dull pounding against her ears. Orso boomed his questions at anyone who would answer. Her senses faded just as he knelt by her side. She came to in bed, with the sheets drawn over her shoulders and a wet towel over her forehead. Blinking to clear her vision, she saw Morrigan busying herself with a wooden mortar and pestle. She grunted to let her know she was awake.

“Up at last, I see,” Morrigan said. “Nearly three hours have passed since you drank the cure. Your temple has bruised, but fortunately you did not break the skin when you fell. I did what I could to wash the cure from your hair.”

“Thanks.”

Morrigan moved closer to the bedside with the bowl in hand and motioned for Safir to sit up. Heat still lingered in her nerves.

“What is this?” Safir asked.

“Something to ease your fever. Drink, quickly.” Setting down the medicine, Morrigan looked her over with soft but inquisitive eyes. “It should take effect in just a few minutes. Until then, how are you feeling?”

“That was so much worse than the Joining,” Safir said, wincing. “It was like being crushed by a mage… while on fire… in a dragon’s nest… and also your father’s dead.”

“I suppose we should count ourselves lucky that your humor remains intact, then.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“How do you feel now?” Morrigan asked.

“Now?” Safir tested her arms and legs with small movements under the covers. “Weird. Sore. Sluggish, like my arms don’t want to move. Somehow my head feels light and heavy all at once.”

“I’ve had worse hangovers,” Orso said, surprising Safir with his sudden entrance. “You’re alright. That’s what matters.”

“I wouldn’t start celebrating just yet, Orso. I’m not sure, but I think I heard the song while I was asleep. The taint is still in me, it’s just weaker somehow.”

“Well, that’s upsetting.”

“Sure is.”

If anyone said another word, Safir had no memory of it. Exhaustion overcame her rapidly, lulling her back into deep sleep. Every now and then the song would stir, lonely and sick and fighting in the darkness, its strength all but sapped. It would whimper out within seconds each time it resurfaced but never seemed to fully abate. The next time she woke, Safir found herself unattended and with worsened symptoms. This pattern held. Each brief flash of awareness brought more pain and discomfort with it. The haze subsided at last when she woke up cold and clammy with Orso’s hand stroking hers.

“How long?” she asked him without so much as a greeting. “How long have I been in bed?”

“Two days,” he answered, taken slightly aback. “It’ll be three tonight. Morrigan says you’re… getting worse.”

“She’s right,” Safir said. Her breath was quick and labored, her words clumsily spoken. “Orso, I think I’m going to die.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, pulling her in by her shoulders. “You’ll be fine.”

“No, I won’t. I’m serious, Orso. You have to… you have to…” Catching her breath, Safir felt the heat grow cold in her stomach, the weight return to her bones. Wooziness twisted her expression when she regarded Orso again. Her eyes wide and her cheeks swelling, she roughly shoved him out of her way. “You have to move!” she yelled.

Leaning forward, she vomited over the side of the bed and gaped in horror at the black sludge that fell from her mouth onto the floorboards. She added to the puddle with a few more expulsions before she was finally done, coughing and gasping. The scent that hit her nose was foul enough to knock her out of the trance and focus her eyes. Amid the rest of her sick, she watched a twitching black mass of blighted rot writhe and wriggle and squirm. The sight of it nearly made her vomit a second time.

“What the _fuck_!” she shouted when her thoughts caught up with her senses. Hurrying to get away from the puddle, she scurried backwards into the wall. “What the fucking fuck!”

Orso was quick to wrap his arms around her and mutter reassurances at her, but she barely paid him any mind as she shuddered and willed the image away. Morrigan rushed through the doorway looking concerned, no doubt wondering what all the shouting was about, and curled her lip as she studied the black vomit on the floor. She paused, then caught Safir’s eyes and smiled.

# ***

#### ...And This is What Happened Next

“And… done!” Orso said, proudly dusting off his hands.

“How do I look?” Safir asked. She ran her fingers over the braid he’d woven, following it from her temple to the ribbon keeping her ponytail in place.

“You look gorgeous, obviously.” Orso ran his knuckle down her cheek and leaned in for a kiss. She blocked it with her hand and flashed him a mischievous smirk.

“We’ve been together a while now, Orso. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Good thing I never back down from a challenge, then, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” she teased. "Where did you learn to do that anyway?"

"I used to help my sister with her hair whenever our mother was out. Speaking of which, shouldn't we be leaving?"

“Yeah, but first things first. We have to decide where we’re going next.”

“Done with Nevarra already?”

“These people worship their dead. I was done with Nevarra a long time ago.”

Safir shivered at the thought and fell silent.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

Safir paused.

“The dead.”

“Cheery.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Orso. “Which dead are you thinking of, specifically?”

Safir paused again. Orso nodded in understanding.

“Ah. Right.”

Safir sighed. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Minrathous wasn’t built in a day.”

“That’s true. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever really be okay. But when I got sick after I took the cure, it really felt like the end. And I realized I don’t want to die with that… _shit_ … hanging over me still.”

“You have your chance, Safir. I know you’ll use it.”

Orso palmed her cheek and stared deeply into her eyes. Grinning, she pulled herself up by his shoulders and kissed him.

“So come on, then!” she said, stepping off confidently.

“But we haven’t even—where are you going?”

Safir put her hands on her hips and filled her lungs. The air was fresh.

“Dunno,” she said. “But I’m getting the fuck out of Nevarra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over. Thanks for reading, now go and do something useful.


End file.
